“Hope”

A barrel of tar
Thrown in the street
A little dog
Someone saw his feet
There he was poor little blighter
stuck fast
A little lost soul
A tiny outcast

Who knows how long
He had been lying there
With all of that wretched tar
Stuck on his hair
Each time he tried to move
It pained
Tearfully, terribly
he must have strained

Every muscle trying to
Get free to see
What he could do
But of course the tar
Was a sticky mess
And clearly causing him
Massive stress

Out in full sun
By the side of the street
Just like an oven
In all of that heat
The frustration and fright
Imagine how
He must have felt
And, so now

Three men arrived
With a metal cutter
Angels appearing
And crouched in the gutter
Sone vegetable oil to hopefully
Use the oil to set him free

Gently laboriously kneading and pulling
Releasing the fur from the sticky tar
The poor little soul just quietly observing
Thinking and wondering who they are
And how did they know he was in this barrel
He hadnt cried out he was clearly lost
Somehow they found him and clearly were helping him
Gently caressing as the tar they tossed

Aside
they had to be really so gentle
The sticky nature could tear at his skin
But they were patient and wonderfully earnest
And realised too just how thin
He was how weak, neglected clearly
Unkempt and unheeded and left there to die
Life had apparently lost all its meaning
And he was surprised that they did now try

It took a time but they did remove it
And took him back to the sanctuary where
They named him “hope” for he clearly had shown them
Significent energy and was so aware
Now he is walking around like a youngster
A few scars but truthfully not when you think
how badly caked up he was in all that pollution
Ponging and mangy and clearly on the brink