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 passsion
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?
 |
| by Rudyard Kipling
|
