To Kathy and My Many Friends
with love and thanks, from Fenway Bartholomule
A quiet mule, I live alone—
Except for FarmWife, two white goats,
A flock of hens, their rooster too,
And little tigers passing through.
And little girls, I’ve counted three,
And FarmHusband, the dog, plus B
And Harriet, the housemules sweet.
So perhaps NOT alone.
A clever mule, I often bray—
I bray to greet each bright new day,
I bray to call for fresh clean hay,
Or sometimes when I feel afraid.
It’s true, I’ve brayed from fear, I’ll say,
But not too often—I’m quite brave.
I’m stoic, yes, and well-behaved,
But perhaps NOT so quiet.
A thoughtful mule, if often think
Of things to say and songs to sing,
Of friends to make and ways to bring
The Muleness to the front of things.
I’m oozing Muleness, don’t you think?
And don’t you find my brown coat sleek?
My velvet nose, you think it’s sweet?
You may, if you wish, kiss it.
I haven’t much—a paddock, friends,
Fresh hay at start of day, and end,
FarmWife, a friend to last my life,
And time—The time goes ticking by.
I spend a great deal thinking. Why,
I think from dawn ‘til dusk—
And then my human, whom I trust,
She writes it down.
Brays of Our Lives was just a whim—
My FarmWife had this mule, loved me,
And wanted all the world to see.
It’s true, I am a sight indeed!
So we commenced to writing, blogging,
Musing, logging every trial and each joy.
Notes from a FarmWife and her boy—
Somehow it grew.
It grew to this—a hundred friends!
Two hundred—six! A thousand soon.
I have heard joyful things, it’s true.
I’ve seen tears shed and heard glad news.
I’ve made good friends—great friends, so kind,
Been given gifts, been helped at times.
Sent to the vet on donors’ dimes.
I have been loved.
I have been loved, I have been blessed.
FarmWife, too, she must confess
To feeling very lucky. To have care
Pour in from every corner—and to share
A mule like me with you, with everyone—
FarmWife’s grateful, having fun.
I, too, am glad, and bray a song
Of love, and gratitude.
My friend, this song’s for you.