This old dog knew the game and always tried to play it right, 
But you expect him to forget his name and, “Go gentle into that good night,”
Don’t get me wrong, there is no blame that clouds his aging sight,
And though it flickers, still the flame within his breast burns oh so bright, 
Tendencies towards the warmth and welcome of a fireside, 
Send to some the message that in this old dog, the fire's died,
But while the flame still flickers, there is yet strength, though soft belied, 
Through dint of wrinkled skin and painful joints that cannot be denied, 
But look a little deeper, take the time to sit and hear his tales,
Memories of times gone past and war wounds where they tried and failed,
To snuff the flame that burned within his breast, though somehow he prevailed, 
To share the fire with you this night and with his stories be regaled,
This old dog may growl a little gruffer than he did in youth, 
And the lessons may be tougher than you want, but trust, he speaks the truth, 
The fact that he’s lived long enough to tell them, stands alone as proof, 
For time’s too short for lies, when the storyteller’s, “Long of tooth,”
And at his weary shoulder he can feel the, “Reaper's,” claws,
So listen to his tales, from when his face was young as yours, 
Show a little patience as a mark of your respect,
For this old dog may know a little more than you’d expect.