Years back, I was a county transit bus driver. One rainy morning, I saw a child's stuffed dog lying in the road. During my two hour break, I went back to retrieve it, but it was gone. The first poem was inspired by this day.
The second poem came years later while I was doing grief counseling in a support group. It's a long story about how it came to inspire a poem. I'll let the poem speak for itself. I've posted them together, because they are a sequel. Enjoy. Janet
Love to Share
©1998, Janet K. Poludniak
I found a little puppy out lying in the road.
He hadn't been run over, but he was wet and cold.
His furry coat was slightly torn, he'd lost one button eye,
and ‘cause he looked so all alone, it made me want to cry.
I thought about the mother of the child who'd lost their friend,
and would accept no other, those tears would not soon end.
I took Pup home to fix him up, to mend him here and there;
I found a brand new button eye and sewed it on with care.
His coat was soiled and dirty, so his colors didn't show.
His fur was worn in places—from lots of love I know,
so I put him in the washer to make him clean and bright,
I found that his colors were coffee brown and white.
I placed an ad in the ‘Lost and Found,' but never got a call,
so now I love him like my own; he sets out in the hall.
He looks like a little watch dog, for when I come home each day,
Pup looks like he is waiting to see if we can play.
I know it hurts to feel so lost when there's no one there to care,
so he'll always have a home with me with lots of love to share. . .
and someday I will share the tale how he came to live with me,
and teach my little guy and gal what true love's meant to be.
The Sequel:
Home At Last
©2001, Janet K. Poludniak
One day I met a lovely girl—
it seemed at first by chance;
she was dating a dear friend of mine;
it was a sweet romance.
Weeks later, she came to visit—
and as we sipped our tea—
her eyes took on a mournful look;
it was easy for me to see.
She looked at me as if she'd lost
her closest, dearest friend.
I asked her, "What's the trouble?"
She said, "Naught that you can mend."
I told her she was special,
that I'd known much pain myself.
She left the room, but then returned
with my little stuffed Pup from the shelf.
Her eyes brimmed with tears
as she confided her tale of woe.
She held Pup like an old friend;
I thought she'd never let go.
She shared that she once had a pup
that looked a lot like mine,
but he had lost one button eye
and didn't look so fine.
It seemed she and her mother
had gone on a shopping spree.
When they returned back home,
her pup had been lost, you see.
As I listened to her tale,
many memories were stirred.
Her pup had been her sole friend;
I wept at what I heard.
Soft things for little children
sometimes fill an empty place
when what we need is lacking;
those memories don't erase . . .
the special, tender memories
those soft things once supplied,
and somehow if they're lost,
it's as if a loved one died.
I remembered friends like that—
whispered secrets beyond measure—
and those special, soft, warm friends for me
were a special treasure.
It just could be that my little Pup
had once been her pup, too!
I wanted to know more;
I had questions, quite a few.
As she filled the gaps
telling how her pup got lost,
I quickly realized that it
had been at enormous cost.
She paused and looked at me;
as tears streamed down her cheek.
I was thankful for the chance
and I began to speak.
I told her how I found ol' Pup
in the rain when I drove by;
how I'd mended and washed the little Pup,
and replaced one button eye.
I told of the ad I had placed,
but had brought no reply.
Then her tears flowed freely
as my guest began to cry.
She smiled in recognition
and held her old friend near,
but now it wasn't sorrow,
but joy that brought her cheer.
Something special emerged that day:
a beautiful friendship was born,
and a special friend that had been lost,
was found, no need to mourn.
Though I had grown attached to Pup,
I knew where he should be,
and because of love for my new friend,
I chose to set Pup free.
He went home with that precious girl,
as once he had in the past,
and now he sits upon her shelf;
ol' Pup is home at last.