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Reading Mommy's Poetry Books... |
The last poem I shared was silly. This next poem, on the other hand, always made me cry. As I read it now, it does not seem to be a super-sad kind of poem. I may even share some sadder ones before the month is out but, even now, I might not be able to read these words aloud with feeling without choking up at the end. There is a way in which I still remember and relive that realization that hit me as a child—that it was Rags on the table. Even writing those words just now brought a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat. Rags By Edmund Vance Cooke We called him "Rags." He was just a cur, But twice, on the Western Line, That little old bunch of faithful fur Had offered his life for mine. And all that he got was bones and bread, Or the leavings of soldier grub, But he'd give his heart for a pat on the head, Or a friendly tickle and rub And Rags got home with the regiment, And then, in the breaking away- Well, whether they stole him, or whether he went, I am not prepared to say. But we mustered out, some to beer and gruel And some to sherry and shad, And I went back to the Sawbones School, Where I still was an undergrad. One day they took us budding M. D.s To one of those institutes Where they demonstrate every new disease By means of bisected brutes. They had one animal tacked and tied And slit like a full-dressed fish, With his vitals pumping away inside As pleasant as one might wish. I stopped to look like the rest, of course, And the beast's eyes levelled mine; His short tail thumped with a feeble force, And he uttered a tender whine. It was Rags, yes, Rags! who was martyred there, Who was quartered and crucified, And he whined that whine which is doggish prayer And he licked my hand and died. And I was no better in part nor whole Than the gang I was found among, And his innocent blood was on the soul Which he blessed with his dying tongue. Well I've seen men go to courageous death In the air, on sea, on land! But only a dog would spend his breath In a kiss for his murderer's hand. And if there's no heaven for love like that, For such four-legged fealty-well If I have any choice, I tell you flat, I'll take my chance in hell. ~ ~ ~ JESUS is LORD! ~ ~ ~ |