Her Sadness (by Denise Levertov)
When days are short,
mountains already
white-headed the west
red in its branchy
leafless nest, I know
more than a simple
sow should know.
I know
the days of a pig-
and the days of dogbrothers, catpigs,
cud-chewing cowfriends-
are numbered,
even the days of
Sylvia the Pet,
even the days
of humans are numbered
Already
laps are denied me,
I cannot be cuddled,
they scratch my ears
as if I were anypig, fattening for bacon.
I shall grow heavier still,
even though I walk
for miles with my Humans,
through field and forest.
Mortality
weighs on my shoulders,
I know
too much about Time for a pig.
===== "The tradition of all the dead generations
weighs like a nightmare on the brain of the living"
-Karl Marx
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