There is sorrow enough
in the natural way
From men and women to
fill our day;
And when we are certain
of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange
for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I
bid you beware
Of giving your heart to
a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money
will buy
Love unflinching that
cannot lie
Perfect passion and
worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or
a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is
hardly fair
To risk your heart for a
dog to tear.
When the fourteen years
which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma,
or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken
prescription runs
To lethal chambers or
loaded guns,
Then you will find -
it's your own affair
But ... you've given
your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived
at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome,
is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit has
answered your every mood
Is gone - wherever it goes
- for good,
You will discover how
much you care,
And will give your heart
to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in
the natural way,
When it comes to burying
Christian clay.
Our loves are not given,
but only lent,
At compound interest of
cent per cent.
Though it is not always
the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept'em,
the more do we grieve;
For, when debts are
payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as
bad as a long
So why in Heaven (before
we are there)
Should we give our hearts
to a dog to tear?
(Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936))
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