The Cardboard Box

You were old, dear Tom, when you came to my door
And dirty and hungry and lame.
You were so scared of people you wouldn't come near
You'd no home and no hope and no name.

So I made you a home at the back of the yard,
It was only an old cardboard box,
And in it a bed lined with polythene bags
With blankets of old shirts and socks.

With lots of good grub, your warm bed and care,
You were soon well and strong as could be,
And though you went back to your life in the wild
You sometimes came back for your tea.

As years came and went, you learned I'd not bite
And allowed me to stroke you a little,
So now, when it's cold, you often creep in
And curl up, by my fire, on the settle.

It can't be long now till you leave me for good,
I pray that you'll suffer no pain,
And ask that you die on the warmth of my bed
And not somewhere out in the rain.

Nokomis