The Raccoon
Hovering near your motherLying dead beside the road . . .
Your savior came with a basket
To carry you home, her compassion
Lasting only as long as it took
To put you in a three-by-five cage.
I cared for you as best I could, but
Your fear was feral, ferocious and
You grew into your righteous rage.
For three long years I was the one
Who made you live with your pain,
And neither of us ever forgave her.
Nor have I ever forgiven myself
For denying you the simple blessing
Of dying as your kind is born to.
Your fierce heart broke against its cage
And I buried you in the pasture, gave you
The peace of ground you should have known.
And each Spring you give me sunflowers.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2011-01-11 at 16:28
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