Brays Of Our Lives

The Rescued

for Save Your Ass Long Ear Rescue

Friendless, luckless, feeling down,

left behind or kicked around,

Lost, passed on from town to town—

These ones must be rescued.

With soulful brays and haunted eyes,

Wormy bellies, sunken sides,

Resigned, and breathing tired sighs—

Some don’t dare hope for rescue.

The living’s hard, each waking day, 

But ghosts of old friends make their way

Through memory and seem to say,

“You may, dear soul, be rescued.” 

You see the ones who once were loved,

Who trust, and hope, and want a rub,

A gentle pat, a friend, a home—

Who dare expect a rescue.

From auction lots and dusty pens,

From any dark, sad circumstance,

Through effort or through lucky chance—

A precious few are rescued.

And then you see them, real, exposed,

It’s in their eyes, a spark that grows.

Some cannot trust, but soon they’ll know

They’re safe—they have been rescued.

Just give them time, and give them care—

A gentle friend, sweet hay to share,

A visit from a farrier—

These serve to help the rescued. 

In time, their confidence restored,

They’ll frolic and gambol once more.

They’ll play, sunbathe, and feel adored—

No longer needing rescue.

In time the trust will bloom and thrive,

A new life—happy! Free! Alive!

If they could talk they’d speak their minds—

They’re grateful for the rescue. 

Step in, and see these gentle souls.

Hold still and listen! Hear it told.

The truth they speak will not grow old:

A “thank you,” from the rescued.