The envy of the pack
the beasts that still roam about the thicket
Fearing being hunted for food or pleasures plain
by the beast most feral of them all
prancing on two legs
The tables have long turned
The claws, the snouts and the trotters
that once made our ancestors shudder
and retreat to their puny caves
Are now mere delicacies adorning our plates,
roasted and peppered
Or hung in deep freezers
awaiting their final place, un-funereal.
Even the names of them most
mean to us only provision or viands at best
The chicken, the fish or the many that are
just hordes of meat
Yet this distaff cousin of foxes and grey-wolves
has managed to sneak into our bedrooms
Sauntering past our plates
appealing to a different taste
Evoking in our hearts a compassion undying
The kind the others on the planet,
even the plants and fellow-humans, have missed
Who says a match made out of convenience
cannot transcend the purpose, the premise
and become
love unconditional, peerless?