It was like the Fates conspired
And somehow had it planned,
I could see that he was tired,
That soon he couldn't stand...
Though the tiger wasn't near me,
Because I'm not that daft,
I could tell that he was weary
And that is why I laughed.
No more the wild thing so engrossed,
I knew he couldn't last...
With one eye open, one eye closed,
The tiger faded fast...
One paw serving for a pillow,
Beneath his dozy head,
He was like a weeping willow,
Quite rooted there instead...
He had to learn to pace himself!
This was the Golden Rule:
Survival first, preserve one's health
And not to play the fool...
He had to learn the solemn truth,
Now he was getting on
And say farewell to passing youth,
Now that his strength had gone...
Denis Martindale's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Weary by Denis Martindale )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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