To Man’s Best Friend – Poem

A dog alone, some say, is man’s true friend,
But you, old mutt, are not a friend to me.
Our love remains no more than mere pretend
To soothe this lonely soul that cares for thee. 
A servant must obey his master’s whim,
For he survives as a mere leech on host.
Do birds feel love for bulls whose ticks they skim?
Poor beasts have not that human inner ghost.
And yet, emotion wells in this black heart.
I see that crying girl you sat beside.
The ball of cotton you were at the start.
I see you in my arms the night you died.
  The love, which dogs create, remains a crime 
  That lasts in human dreams for all of time.