Impressing is your job, expressing is mine.

He lived aloof and alone, amidstthe woods afar
Where men didn't haunt him nor society his freedom mar
The nearest hut he knew was over a mile away
He slept alone by the night and lazed so by the day

He had a friend though, the only friend he ever had
A greyhound- old, daunted, smelly and equally sad
Two teeth short, it drooled and drooped to gravity
Much like its master, void of any levity

Master and hound, they owned an old wooden hut in the woods
It creaked and squealed to each of nature's changing moods
A dusty patched deerskin lay near the broken fireplace
And a rusty gun hung by the wall with wasted grace.

They spent all summer lazing and winter just grunting
Save when the seasons changed, and they'd go duck-hunting
There best days, though, were spent by the fire, eating burnt meat
Master lying lazily on the chair, hound at his feet.

Thus years passed one after another, time raced ahead
The master's back hunched over, the dog was bout half dead
Their muscles rested, their bones began to rot and defile
Hunting trips became rarer and shorter by the mile

One cold foggy morn, The old man scraped his rusty old gun
Fall ws at it's end and so was his only chance to have fun
Game'd be plenty now and he may get no chance again
Whistling out to hs oldest friend, he whispered- "Captain!"

Captain came limping, saliva droolin from his mouth
His hunter instinct not aroused by the geese flying south
But would follow his master till time did them apart
As both made their last foray into the forest heart

Their joints creaked as they walked, old master and half dead hound
They tramped the marshy land to where the duck abound
They arrived at the lakeside and hid among the reeds
Game was plenty and unaware, the man prepared his leads.

The rusty gun shook hard as it coughed out a bullet
A hasty flutter of wings as game and shot met
"Go, get him, Captain", the man ordered the dog, eyeing him
With forced alacrity, the hound limped and splashed to swim

But his upsurged joy gave his rot decaying bpomes no strength
And when he had splashed his way through half the target length
His hound instinct no longer gave him a helping hand
And he stopped and sank into the marshy sand

The master watched with taerful eyes, this entire death show
He cried, reached his hand out to the air, grieved head hung low
He stood up, walked home and brought back a rope, traumatised
With aged fatigue, he pulled out his only friend demised

His strength fading fast, he dragged the body to his lair
Sat near the fire, hound at his feet, and scratched its dead hair
The deerskin lay dirtily wet and splattered with mud
His throat was sore with cold dry cough and clothes smeared with mud

He stared into the fire as the room dimly it lit
He pulled over the dog and threw it onto the fire
Stench and smoke rose and spread in the room, not lessening his pain
Intoxicated, he lay still on the chair, never to rise again