At the edge of the town in a field so pristine,
There appeared a young mule no one ever had seen,
The town folk agreed just abandoned was he,
Over time they adopted this mascot to be.
For he’d wander around; every farm; every home,
And, everyone liked him where ever he’d roam,
One day an old farmer whose oxen were ill,
Used the mule at the plow and his field he did till.
Another would use him to remove a great stump-
Of a tree so enormous; got him over the hump,
In the forest so dense where terrain was quite bad,
The mule hauled the litter of one injured lad.
Not a cart or a wagon was unseen to this mule,
And, the kids thought him bright without gracing a school,
Now, gentle in spirit and even as tide,
Every youth in the town on the mule they did ride.
When it was his turn, now the old mule died,
Some old folks got teary, and some of them cried,
The blacksmith he fashioned a statue of him,
That captured his youth in all vigor and vim.
It stands in the courtyard in the center of town,
Some visitors sneer, shake their heads while they frown,
But, the town folk recount every story in style,
As it gains second looks with bright eyes and a smile.
Every person who knew him, this adopted old friend,
They loved his grand spirit from the start to its end,
And, the mule’s life had moral; it’s simple but true,
Just give unto others what was given to you.
Peter Lowell Paulson
April 7, 2020
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