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Poets and Poetry
SHEP REMEMBERS
By James T. Hammond
Shep and I walk more slowly of late,
Neither too sure of our tread.
We step into darkening shadows
Of our December years,
Cautious of mysteries lurking
In the dusky pathways ahead.
Together our time counts most precious,
For in spite of our faltering gait,
Views of those yesterday memories
Seem to focus more clearly our fate.
Recalling the challenge of tempest storms,
Thinking of past winter’s cold
And summer’s torturous heat,
Along with sufferings untold.
Hard working guys, we will forever
Revere those hardy memories of old.
Sinew drawn and tendon strain
For whatever our chores demanding.
Our days were long and our breaths drew short
For whatever the task withstanding.
Shep since a pup and I long ago both bent,
Me now three score half still counting.
Together we have worked this thankless old farm,
Some ovine, bovine, poultry and crops,
Some lingering debts still mounting.
Not much of a place -- ramshackle, rundown,
And might be too humble for some.
But for my dog and me
There is more here you see,
For this old place our home has become.
From Shep’s point of view he would ask
No grander manor from which to preside —
The meadows his fiefdom, the barns his domain,
The fields are his kingdom, green pastures his pride
He is the sentinel, protector, warden,
And readily on call.
Grunting porcine, lowing cattle or blatting ovine
Shep somehow looks after them all.
Nights of pleasure, days of work,
Sweep sweet reveries to the fore.
Shep was a man among ladies
And many gals he was known to adore.
A handsomer dandy never lived,
As proved by his puppies galore.
How the girls loved, revered and idolized
This strutting, dancing devil
And proud was he as the lassies by three
Were often seduced to his revel.
To the pups he was just Dad, a wonderful guy,
In spite of his raucous deportment.
His pups would all romp
and would dangle in play —
One from his mane, a second his ear,
still another his tail.
What a wondrous, glorious assortment.
Never a growl, a whimpered complaint,
While watching his offspring eat off his plate.
Although hungry he may be, his children you see,
Always caused him to patiently wait.
When Shep took command of the field
Neither critter nor creature dared to ignore.
His presence, his bearing, signaled to all
This good English Shepherd’s guidance
Was inherent from centuries before.
No beast afield would dare test,
Nor challenge or attempt to engage,
To cause this farm collies’ payment
Of a reminder's penalty wage.
He was dashing; he was gallant,
Strong, true, intrepid, noble, robust —
He was both fearless and bold.
Spirited, dauntless, and always
A friend you could unquestionably trust.
Search the entire world over
And, I'm sure you will never find
A truer friend or more passionate ally.
None to compare to my standby old chum.
That’s my Shep, this wonderful guy.
But now as we sit in silent shadows out back,
In the tint of the old willow tree,
The evening turns chill and we lingering and will
To lengthen our few moments left.
No more will we run, we can’t play by the creek,
Nor tour into town for a spree.
We will be passing soon, forgotten by most,
Still devoted one to another.
Either refusing to go, for we know it is so,
There will be no one to care for the other.
If you have a favorite poem that is free of copyright and you would like to share with English Shepherd Friends please email either
Cindy Boles at:
brunoandremy@yahoo.com
or
Vivian Flynt at:
esaregr8@localnet.com
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