As I was going to Santa Fe,
I met him bound the self-same way.
“Hast seen my dog? For he did stray,
And where Jack is I cannot say.”
“A dog will roam,” said I to him,
“No doubt Jack took off on a whim
To see the world ere eyes grow dim,
To fill his cup up to the brim.”
The man grew sad; with eyes cast down
He said “I hope Jack can be found.
The world to me is that small hound.”
He paused, still staring at the ground.
“Go home,” said I, “for he’ll come back,
When far away he feels the lack
Of master’s touch, then he’ll make track
To home and hearth. Then you’ll have Jack.”
He smiled and left. I did not know
If what I’d told him would be so.
Sometimes it’s helpful just to show
A picture that will let hope grow.
I journeyed on toward Santa Fe
And thought of Jack throughout the day.
My quest ne’er ends, I cannot stay,
For my dog too has run away.