The Power of the Dog
There is sorrow
enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always
arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and
your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect
passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the
head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart
to a dog to tear.
When the fourteen
years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour
or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal
chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body
that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome,
is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every
mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover
how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow
enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian
clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound
interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case,
I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan
is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
Rudyard Kipling
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The Last Battle