I was talking with a friend of mine
He tells me he can’t sleep
His little dog was killed
And he grieves for it deeply
“I had it like a small child,” he said
“So it wouldn’t drip or get wet
I took it out every morning
Before the sun had risen yet
It never once offended me
It never talked back
It only looked me in the eyes
And wagged its tail
I wish I knew if someday
We will meet again
If they too go up there
To the other life”
My friend, now you reminded me
Of my childhood years
You opened old wounds again
From so many years ago
We too once had a dog
That we loved very much
We called him Mourtzos
And everyone admired him
He guarded the vineyard in the morning
At night, the household
As if we had told him
What truly belonged to him
One morning when dawn came
He didn’t appear in our yard
The whole summer passed
And he was no longer with us
One rainy night
It was early November
We hear Grandpa and Grandma
As if something had happened to them
“Get up, children!” they cried
“He found his master!”
Mourtzos came back from far away
With a wire around his neck
Our joy was great
I will never forget it
Though the years have taken me
I will never let it fade
I saw dedo Lexos crying
With black, bitter tears
Sighing as he spoke
These sorrowful words:
“But what joy we felt
That our dog returned
Just imagine if it were
Our child who came back”
“Where are you, my Giannis, come back
My beloved son
I know you will never appear
But I will come to find you”
Giannis had been killed
In the war of ’40
Helping a comrade escape
Behind a shack
He was a sergeant in the army
He breathed his last in the cold
He left behind a wife and a small child
Parents, and three siblings
From the collection's own note: the images with these poems are AI-created artistic renderings by the source, not historical photographs.