A Lesson Not Learned
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He did not know which way to go ?
On mountain high, capped cold with snow.
His matted hair tossed to and fro,
He did not know which way to go.

He once knew love, on distant shore,
He'd showed his love, more and more.
Then one day Their love grew dim,
'It's time to go', they said to him.

A quiet road in country spaces,
He saw no grief; resignation on their faces.
They let him out and left him there
With wind chaffed face and tousled hair.

He gave his matted hair a shake
As if to say 'There's some mistake' ?
The only other hollow sound's
The first of winter's hoary hounds.

His meals were few; his feet were sore,
The miles have passed, and years the more.
His hair more ruffled, matted now,
The furrows deep upon his brow.

Loneliness, surpassed by pain,
He gave his heart; no thought of gain.
Now he stops from shore to shore.
Begging kindness from each door.

'It's all a matter of size', he thought.
I grew old . . they grew distraught.
I grew quickly, even tall,
And their hearts shrank, to oh so small.

Whose hearts these were, he thought he knew.
Not hearts where any compassion grew.
'They will not see me stopping here
With matted hair and growing fear'.

He gives his matted head a shake,
To ask his God if there's some mistake ?
To die alone, on Earth's own breast ?
And what of Love ? His only quest.

Shouldn't "They" all think it queer ?
To abandon love from a friend so dear ?
Between this world and the frozen next
To choose to leave him alone with death ?

He gave his matted hair a shake
As if to say ' There's some mistake' ?
He did not know which way to go.
His matted hair tossed to and fro.

Now the scene has changed around.
We talk of man; not of hound.
In elder years, we hold them near ?
Or abandon them, to die with fear ?

A quiet hall in lonely spaces,
We see no love; resignation just mirrored on faces.
They're left alone; "They left me here ?"
With ageing face and tousled hair.

Richard Stopps