Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Faithful Hound

Although we didn't know where to go,
or how,
or when,
or what to do,
but to march on...

"Ruff! Ruff!" barked the dog, when the going got tough,
and the weather got rough,
and we trudged through icky, sticky, stuff.

That dog got us through.

He knew what do do.

But how did he know the way to go?

Or how to lift the hearts of men,
who had lost all hope.

Emptied of pride,
grown men stopped in their tracks and cried.

And doubtless, many would have died,
but for our canine friend.

When, at last, our homeward march was done,
amidst the rising of the sun,
I marveled that each and every one of us was there.

The prize we'd sought when we'd begun
was lost to us.
We hadn't won.

And yet we did, by that return,
escape the ultimate defeat.

And so, on that night, and every night since then,
for his faithfulness to all my men,
the choicest cut of meat and bone,
I serve to him, and him alone.

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