Thread: Poems

The Mourner

By Mary Champion

One day they called and when I came they said,
"Hes gone" - and put a hand on my head.
My kennel's here and everyone is kind,
But where is he? - It's him I want to find.
I eat and sleep and do the work im told,
But must it be like this until I'm old?
They think I lie content in shade or sun,
But where has he gone? Where is all the fun?
Down in the shed I found his cap and scarf -
(I shut my eyes and sniff and hear him laugh!)
They never move; they're powdered now with snow
Of spiders' webs, as long days come and go.
What can I do? Perhaps I'd better stay -
I couldn't find him if I ran away.
I'd lose the little bits of him I know -
The favourite places where we used to go.
He didn't mean to leave me here behind;
Oh, where is he? It's him I want to find.
And silently and quietly, early, late,
I search, I hope, I listen, - and I wait.
I cannot understand. He isn't here.
He's gone, he's lost. He's gone away, but where?



from the book "Sheep dog trialling in Poverty Bay and beyond" by John Tombleson, I hope no one minds