WHO WILL MOURN FOR EWAN JONES? ***
Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet


Old Ewan Jones lives alone on the moors
with Kip his black collie with snowy white paws
their home is a shack beneath the soaring tors.
When he dies, who will mourn Ewan's passing?

That winter was cold, the snow thick on the ground
the sheep mobbed together in drifts
by low stony walls, seeking shelter of sorts
from the icy winds. Some death stole swift.
Seems time and again Ewan rescued small lambs
that were cast by the snow in their fleece.
'twas warmth from their dams that had kept them alive.
Ewan prayed for this snowstorm to cease.

Though buried in snow and not easily seen
his dog Kip found their scent with his nose
and stood there and barked till old Ewan caught up
with his shovel, the sheep to disclose.
The workload was heavy and Ewan was old
there was no time to rest or to eat.
Too busy at saving his flock from the cold
he gave no thought to his sodden feet.

With fever one night Ewan shivered and shook
laboured breath rasping deep in his chest.
Kip lay at his feet. Knew his master was crook.
Could do nothing. Against Ewan pressed.
When thin morning light filtered through dirty glass
both the fire and old Ewan were cold.
Kip whimpered and placed a paw on Ewan's knee
but no morning instructions were told.

No kettle was steaming, no dishes were placed
and no fire warmed the old wooden shack.
Kip went to his master, once more licked his face,
nudged his arm saying "soon I'll be back."
Then Kip pushed the window that never would latch
tight and bounded out into the snow.
Streaking like a rocket across snowy hills
and pastures, knowing where he must go.

The farmer heard barking insistent and loud
at the door and he jumped up to see
the black collie there, agitated, alarmed;
running out and then back - a banshee.
"What's up Kip, where's Ewan?" The farmer called out.
"Be a good lad and come here to me".
But Kip yipped and yapped, turning circles, then ran
to the gate displaying urgency.

The message was given its meaning was clear
and he followed the dog through the snow.
He entered the shack where Ewan lay at rest,
in deaths cold embrace. His last beau.
The collie lay down beside his master's chair
with his black head upon his white paws.
A great sigh escaped him as his brown eyes watched.
He was bereft and death was the cause.

Old Ewan Jones lived alone on the moors
with Kip his black collie with snowy white paws
their home was a shack beneath the soaring tors.
When he died, who there mourned Ewan's passing?

Oh my, Maureen, this bush poem makes me ever so sad. More so for Kip the dog than Ewan. No, that's wrong...old Ewan saved so many sheep, he gave his life for them. He was heroic. And so alone, poor man...

I hope some kind person adopted Kip? It reminds me of when my own Dad died suddenly, working in his tool shed. He had a German Sheppard called León (Lion), who also ran around desperately barking till my Mum went over to see...And after that León would not budge from the tool shed. One had to take him his meals and water, at first he just sniffed at the bowls, but eventually began to eat. When my Mum had to come up to Buenos Aires to live with us, Dad's dog was adopted by one of the farmhands. I don't know the rest of the story. Sad.

I like 'in death's cold embrace. His last beau.'

And 'No kettle was steaming, no dishes were placed
and no fire warmed the old wooden shack.'

I always feel the emotional parts of poems. Yours brings tears to my eyes.

The whole piece is a wonderful description of life in those parts of Australia. We have similar areas in Argentina. Some winters they're snow-covered and many lambs die. I have a poem about that. Perhaps I'll post it in FV.

What are tors?

I think your keyboard must be different in some ways. When I copy and paste poetry here, I find bits go awry...LOL.

Tx so much for sharing this 'picture' of Australian life, Maureen.

Syl***

Thanks Syl for reading and also pointing out those odd ??? punctuation marks that were showing - I have fixed them now.

I actually wrote this poem from a NewZealand /English perspective rather than Australian - properties there are smaller and farmers/shepherds do check their flocks on foot. Here in Australia once the sheep are out in the main paddocks which are often thousand of acres in size they pretty much have to fend for themselves, although we always bought our lambing ewes into our 100 acre paddock next to the house so that we could keep an eye on them - having said that farmers in Tasmania doubtless would relate as they have heavy snows there and also breed sheep.

A tor is a small rocky outcrop or hill - I've put a piccie of one of my old ewes on top of the hill next to the house

Thank you for reading and commenting and I am delighted you liked it - you can't go wrong writing poetry about dogs :)

Tx, Maureen, for answering my questions. I love the pic of your old ewe on top of the hill...or tor.

I see what you mean about the perspective you were taking to write this poem. In Argentina, mostly in the vastness of Patagonian steppes, sheep and lambs are left to fend for themselves, as in Australia. The poem I wrote was just after a terrible snowstorm that lasted about a week. Whole flocks died. It was impossible to round them up.
I remember thinking, all the same, that lambing ewes should always be sheltered in paddocks, every winter. It's so very cold even if it doesn't snow...and the strong winds!!

The worst part is that sheep, cows and horses were brought over by Spanish conquerors and then European settlers. Originally, only guanacos were bred by aborigines. These are camelidae with padded feet, they don't destroy the soil and they can go without water for a long time. Their wool was greatly appreciated. The aborigines ate their meat only as needed.
Nowadays some farmers are breeding them once again!! A bit late, considering the devastation caused by cloven hooved animals.

You're so right, dogs are a great subject. I've owned so many during my lifetime, mostly strays or abandoned ones.

Do bring on more, Maureen.
Syl***

Thank you Syl - my dog count to date is 12 - that's with my new little mate Khamah-D Blue. That's a lot of dogs and each one of them dearly loved and never forgotten.