Her fur is green with age and moss,

Nearly matching the lawn.

She sits implacably, looking up, supplicating,

Her huge spaniel eyes more patient than any other statue's.

In her mouth she holds the tall, round handle

Of a flower basket, the kind that

Laughing little girls in white carry at Easter.

 

Her expectantly lifted left paw says

The flowers in her basket are an offering.

But they, too, are iron and green.

 

There's no one in the garden to take them

   (even if they could be taken).

None to pat this ever faithful friend

On the head and say, "Good girl."

 

Why did the sculptor add these flowers of iron

Instead of leaving the basket empty?

 

   Real flowers might have been planted there.

   Someone, maybe a laughing child in white,

   Might have taken a blossom for her hair

   And smiled her thanks at the constant dog.

 

Did he despair of sale to a true gardener, or

Never imagined a little girl frolicking on a lawn?

Or was it merely that

He didn't know when he was finished?