There was a photo up a while back of a poor donkey collapsed in the road with heavy layered up bags on his back. A hard image to put aside even though there is so much goodness brought to donkeys through the Sanctuary's work. So this poem is a bit of sadness for that donkey that I must release. I give my appreciation once again to those working (in the trenches) abroad, bringing sanctuary, in all that word's measure and meaning, to donkeys.

On the Road

What do you know
Of the sores on my back?
Of the weight of the cart
Of the care that I lack.
There's no need to hit me
To starve or beat me,
I'll gladly do what you want
And bend my small strength
To your needs.
Though my Donkey spirit is strong
My body is weak
Don't you understand?
I'm inherently meek,
...'Tis true...'tis true...
It's pity I seek.
But I'll always have hope
Like Benjamin of old
That kindness is somehow
At the end of my rope.
I do not regret
My life full of service,
Though I would like
To ease into old age
I'm glad to be working.
My place is with you
It's lucky I am
Not to be in a circus or
Locked behind a cold cage.
Will you think of me kindly
As I die in the road?
Do not leave me here -
The weight lifting I see,
There come hands
That would help
Take this burden
From me.
It's to their kindness
And to their empathy
I speak,
With my eyes
To better days
And eternal peace.