Friday, 17 June 2011

Our Best Friend

Too hot to move he lies upon the once cool stone.
Hot indeed,
But preferable to baking slabs around him.

'Poor dog,' he thought, 'poor dog,
I can't remove my coat like you
To stop the scorching of my skin.
Instead I lie, baking in this brilliant furnace.'

'I see you laughing in the shade,
Cool drinks clutched in your careless hands.
You will not feel the heat of burning ears lying in the sun.'

'Poor dog,' he thought, 'poor dog;
Why do you never think of me,
whilst pandering to your own needs?'

And then the flies began to buzz
And landed on his heated back,
And dog, poor dog, he couldn't see
The things that made this cruel attack.

'Enough,' he thought, this poor dumb thing
Whilst staring out through betrayed eyes,
And pulling on the iron chain
He strained and tugged and yelped and cried.

'Go see the dog' the woman said,
To children playing on the grass.
So eagerly he greeted them,
That set the poor thing free at last.

And none thought of the hurt they'd caused
Or saw the sorrow in his eyes,
In loving them he gave his life
For all their cruelty and their lies.

So why poor dog were you this way,
Left chained up on a summers day?

No comments:

Post a Comment