The usual places are empty
Our air is still
No soft noises are heard
None are there for a treat or a pill.
Toys are collected and put away
Wondering if they’ll be needed on another day.
Food bowls are cleaned, beds are washed,
Unopened food is given away,
The others are tossed.
Quiet shadows every motion and move
You think of memories
Which help and soothe.
But the faces remain, always there
In the empty space, an empty chair.
Michael Seidel, writer 
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