The Bereavement of
the Lion-Keeper by Sheenagh Pugh, in Later Selected Poems
for Sheraq Omar
Who
stayed, long after his pay stopped,
in
the zoo with no visitors,
just
keepers and captives, moth-eaten,
growing
old together.
Who
begged for meat in the market-place
as
times grew hungrier,
and
cut it up small to feed him,
since
his teeth were gone.
Who
could stoke his head, who know,
how
it felt to plunge fingers
into
rough glowing fur, who has heard
the
deepest purr in the world.
Who
curled close to him, wrapped in his warmth,
his
pungent scent, as the bombs feel,
who
has seen him asleep so often,
but
never like this.
Who
knew that elderly lions
were
not immortal, that it was bound
to
happen, that he died peacefully,
in
the course of nature,
but
who knows no way to let go
of
love, to walk out of sunlight,
to
be an old man in a city
without
a lion.
No comments:
Post a Comment