Robert Burnell Krug Poetry

Morning is breaking open a new day. My sweet puppy of 14 years stirs in her bed along-side mine, and she begins a long series of awaking yawns.

The smell of coffee is in the air, so I guess my son has started his day before me.

Knowing that I’m now awake, for he too heard the stir of the family pet, my son enters my room with a cup of his hot brew.

While setting it on my night-stand, within my reach, he asks: “Dad, do you mind if I play my guitar now. I will keep the volume low.”

I quickly reply: “No my son, I don’t mind, and I would like to hear your voice too”.



He proceeds into the next room, and I lay there in anticipation of his notes.

The bed is warm and comfortable as I lay buried under a thick goose down blanket.

He begins, and an uncontrollable set of tears begin welling in my eyes. My God, he sounds so beautiful.

Another new creation of his, I conclude, and I lay there so proud. His voice sounds so crisp and gentle.

I’m so thankful that I have been given this precious gift of love.

His handsome voice fills my room as the sunlight slowly enters, and I am in a trance.



An hour goes by so quickly, and then he stops.

Now, I can hear my sweet puppy in the kitchen as she drinks water from her bowl. I love that sound of innocence.

My son enters my bedroom once again. Smiling at me, he sits along the edge of the bed and asks “What do you think papa”?

I quickly reply: “I think that I am the luckiest father in all the world, and your song is perfect my son. Perfect in every way”.

Without a sound, he reaches down to me and shares his soft lips upon my cheek. “I love you dad” he says.

With another round of tears welling in my eyes, I reach out to him and pull him close to me, and we exchange hugs for a long time.

Several minutes have passed now, and we remain embraced. His warm head is comfortably rested along-side of mine.

He is quietly sleeping again.

Poet: Robert Burnell Krug