Pondering milkbones
Nosed tenderly
Nestled in mounds
Mountains, they seemed
But to him they were molehills
Milkbones might mold
Mildew and mellow
Musty and reminding
Of the time they matriculated
Under moist mounds
Maybe Bailey
Dared to hope
Instead of mourning
We’d have his milkbones
In the morning.