Ode to a Donkey
I first saw you in a Breton field,
recognised a familiarity.
We were adoptees, overly-laden,
our mothers were both beasts of burden too.
Like my dog and me we did not need to speak.
Scarred, haunted somewhat, sad-eyed and stubborn,
our pasts were a fable of sorts, a legend
but you wore a holy cross for all to see.
Your back carried my children but you would
not be overloaded. Long-lived and much
longer-loved, you were the bravest and the
best of beasts, a dear and darling donkey.