An Old Man on the Porch

He is 7 years old maybe, mere orange furnished colour on the anatomy, fairly looking eyes and a big bright face.
He walks in grace, leads his peers in the toughest of terrains and furious of the rains.
He is an old man on the porch resting on his big mind, below the shade underneath humans' visions that sets him displace his throne.
He is a night prowler, every rise in another dark pace.
He is a friend, near and dear, exemplary compliment since times, a security men ruling across the pendent, all designed in money and pride.
He is the hero of his story, his mandate presence made the mystery more applaudable, a world where wests swims into easts and be friends, friends forever.
He is old, yet his throne is inevitable, beyond all lessons thus he stays and coexist and leaves fierce flights in dust....
He is a dog, mine a street borne,the best companion of all times, standing still in generosity, well a God's own gift wrapped in essence of pure love!