A Hard Cold Morning

A hard cold morning is what I remember most,
the frozen ground's snowy ghost

crunching its wintery protest
under my every foot step,

the night sharpened air
instantly biting at my ears

while the dry Februariness
does its best

to displace my breathing
with coughing.
Yet I kept walking,
my brother following
behind me, completing

our two soul convoy of silence- nothing spoken
while ahead Pepper lays broken,

her time with us expiring during the night,
her fur covered in a light
dust of white
snow and the yellow
glow
of the back porch light.

Brown eyes, still open and warm, seem to toast
us her final thanks, but
a hard cold morning is what I remember most.