This poem is for Mushke, all those who suffered with her and to those that brought about her healing.
A Donkey's Tears
'Tis not the reader of this poem, nor I, that suffered that blade
But a trembling face, so full of tears.
We ask, how could you endure all those dark fears?
As hope and kindness wandered astray
Floating alone like leaves to the ground
You must have wondered, where is love found?
You watched as your playmates
endured the same fate,
Creating your sadness ever anew;
Your tears were not seen,
Like the vanishing dew.
Fair was your face, before that blade slew,
Rewarding your service with
Pathos hung cruel.
Your breath receded as you felt the sharp edge
And hope, you thought, far overhung the hedge.
And yet a light came that never set;
Whispering in your tense ears, "your scars we will heal
and your tears we'll collect",
In a sober cup this memory will quiet lie
Only now to be found,
Watering love and health
In a wreath wrapped round.
Read about Mushke and the old tradition of nostril cutting in India.