The Ballad Of Bessy Poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes

Bessy pulls the cart towards home sweet home that day
Her size makes pulling baby carts as mere child's play
She's huge, a Labrador, gift of a Russian friend
Trained by a cop called Tim - that isn't his real name

Tim can slug between the eyes crooks across the street
His temper's short, but long the distance he'd shoot straight
His baby, Bessy pulls in cart as they would stroll
Today could be the day for her maternal call

So many pats did Tim bestow on Bessy's head
A due reward for deeds of bravery she'd made
To Bessy, it's worth all to life and what it brought
And with her newborn pups, she's bound for added worth

One fateful day, as Tim was out, the stork came in,
And for Bessy it looks like Fate to her did grin,
But as her seventh pup was out, a wolf came by
It bit the baby that so loud it now did cry

Still in maternity, she sprang to guard duty
To give battle, protect her tuft, succeed ably
She'd killed the wolf, at last, but not without its price
Bloodied and stained, she hardly moves from where she lies

But worse is for the fox that now nary is seen,
Concealed in undergrowth from where it once had been
The stench of death will fill the air in future days
Or else its rotting corpse thereat forever stays

As Tim arrives, she thought a pat would ease her pain
She whined a bit to point out to where she'd lain
Tim saw the baby bleeding red from dangling arm
And felt the matching blood on Bessy's face still warm

To Tim, this meant a smoking gun that he has found
As victim and the culprit were all still around
Ten years of Police work taught him to act now fast
He struck at Bessy who just stared feeling aghast

The pat that Bessy yearned now came, but seemed too hard
It split her skull and felt as though there flew a shard
Her pups, too, Tim held nothing back, he gave it all
She watched with mournful eyes as all of them would fall

She stared at Tim with eyes where now fresh blood had sprung
As if to say, 'If you'd kill me, please spare my young,
I've only done the best I can, if not enough,
Then punish me, but please, let live a single pup.'


When Tim's the judge, jury, executioner
He puts a slug between the eyes of whoever
A welcome thought for Bessy to befall that fate
When life has got more stings than even Death itself

Bessy now hardly moves from where she lies
It's been a year ago, yet Tim secretly cries
Her bones nary will know why man could make those slips
Or why often heroes would die in sinking ships.