LINCOLN’S * STICK

The stick was thrown, forsaken,

Into the pasture, by the boy,

Which an hour ago had been,

His companion, and his toy.

2

It lay alone and lonely,

After being warm and close,

To the lad and his fancy,

It had been friend – foremost.

3

It could have spent its latter days

Drooling over its state,

Self-pity it could have claimed,

For the loss of its former mate.

4

Instead it relished contentment,

For having shared and been,

As few sticks ever are;

A real-live human’s friend.

– eab, May ’76 * Our second son, age 9.