Apr 23
"You there!" The first Lord proclaimed in utter defiance,
"You, the king's dog!"
The lumbering mutt, of old age by now,
Trotted towards the two lords, plotting himself down at their feet.
"What is it, my lord?"
"Are you not the king's dog?
The one who grovels at his feet?
Who eats scraps off the floor?
The one who doesn't sleep to guard him,
And fetches his pheasants for miles?" The lord commanded.
"Yes it is I." The cordial dog replied.
"Do you not wish something more for your efforts? Hmm?
Do you not wish of a delicate goose feather pillow?
Or bones of the biggest calf?"
The dog raised his haunches, and roared out his response,
"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"
"Then," began the first Lord,
Glancing at the second Lord beside him,
"Then, why do you choose such a wicked master?"
Silence filled the space between them for a few moments,
And the first Lord suspected he had the mutt beat.
Slowly, the dog sat his rump back on the stones,
Released a huff that blew slobber across his chin,
And spoke,
"Because he is the only master I have ever known."
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Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
