THE POTTER’S DOG – September 2009


By Robert Taylor




few months past in early May

At a potter’s roadside place,

I stopped by his pots of clay

My visit there I now re-trace.

I found that day in Jocotepec

A dog no less – to my suprise

The very image of my dear pet

With golden hair, ears, face and eyes

The potter took in this stray young friend

His companion now- in captivity

Whose daily hours were to spend

Chained to his tree – the indignity

And so each day I passed that way

This dog and I – now friends, you see

To the potter: one day could say-

‘If only he belonged to me’.

The weeks flew past – no solace given

To that dear dog whose fate decided

To spend his hours in his own prison

His master’s care – so misguided.

Three months hence, I learned the worst-

His collar, frayed, loosened, broke

Alone at night, nature cursed,

That deadly road- gone in a stroke.

Some dogs are loved, and some we cherish,

And in return they give devotion,

But some, not loved, so quickly perish-

Dismissed, denied, without emotion.


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