Grey Paws

Grey paws glide along the chilled forest floor

Gently as his stride lengthens

Much to the pleasure of the Bishop

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Deftly he weaves through the thick trees

As if each step laid out before him

Looking back for His approval

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A Tournament announced, scarcely occurring

Our contestant, methodically selected,

His grey paws cheerfully manicured

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Grateful praises toward the Bishop mundane

The contender readies his neck for a lifetime

Imagining the slick velvet ribbon and weighted medallion

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Blazing flares arc through the sky

Grey paws glide along to the delight of the Bishop

Discerning onlookers examine his performance

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Head down, final strides under his feet

Envisioning his prestigious scene on the dais

The ring of a single whistle halts his progress

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Our contestant, methodically selected,

Nobly born, victory’s path laid before him.

Eagerly through youth’s mud he had trodden

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Clean grey paws seemingly a facade

Gnarled teeth show, his well-maintained mask slips

Unable to wash away the Stains of Accountability

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Yet, the Bishop and his men are pleased by his path

Unfazed and determined to complete the race

Truth finally spoken, sadly falls on undiscerning ears

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Our contestant, methodically selected,

Gladly trod through the mud of his youth

Now wears the weighted medallion, answers only to the Bishop

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