A Sketch of a Mule

The mule seemed pensive, even sad,
As if by conscience pricked
But when they came to share his woes
He raised objections—kicked.

The cat came up to sympathise,
With mew and gentle purr;
Alas! she got within his reach,
When – fiddlestrings and fur!

The dog in pity neared him to
Alleviate his care;
He tried to pass around him once,
But – sausage meat and hair!

And John, the honest farmer boy
Who had the beast in charge,
Tried recklessly to harness him –
His funeral was large.

Oh, trifling were the causes which
His flexile legs unfurled;
And many were the quadrupeds
That sought another world.

He never did a decent thing
He wasn’t worth a ducat;
He kicked and kicked until he died.
And then he kicked the bucket.

An unattributed poem originally published in the Monmouthshire Merlin, June 10th, 1881.