A Promise to My Dog

I owe my dog a tree, you see,
a perfect spot to lift his leg and pee.
A sturdy trunk where he can claim,
his rightful territory, his mark, his fame.

Every morning, with a hopeful glance,
he sniffs around, looking for his chance.
A promise made, but never kept,
as seasons changed, and I overslept.

“No shrubs or poles,” I said with pride,
“I’ll get you a tree, tall and wide.”
A place to christen, a spot just right,
to lift your leg high, morning or night.

But days turned to years, and still we roam,
no tree to call his own, no kingdom, no throne.
So here’s my vow, my furry mate,
I’ll plant that tree before it’s too late.

A place to lift your leg and mark,
underneath the sky, both light and dark.
I owe you this, my four-legged friend—
a tree to pee on, right till the end.