Weary
It was like the Fates conspired
And somehow had it planned,
I could see that he was tired,
That soon he couldn't stand...
Though the tiger wasn't near me,
Because I'm not that daft,
I could tell that he was weary
And that is why I laughed.
No more the wild thing so engrossed,
I knew he couldn't last...
With one eye open, one eye closed,
The tiger faded fast...
One paw serving for a pillow,
Beneath his dozy head,
He was like a weeping willow,
Quite rooted there instead...
He had to learn to pace himself!
This was the Golden Rule:
Survival first, preserve one's health
And not to play the fool...
He had to learn the solemn truth,
Now he was getting on
And say farewell to passing youth,
Now that his strength had gone...
poem by Denis Martindale
Added by Poetry Lover
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