Sloth

WHERE shall I find the little six-toed sloth
That once companioned me in days gone by?
Often the soft-foot twilight found us both
Sitting forlorn below an alien sky,

Where hung the gibbous moon, with vacant leer
Staring us fiercely till our poor hearts froze;
And I would rouse myself to tweak his ear,
And he would softly punch me on the nose.

Then would we creep into some near-by cell
Made dimmer by the dampwood embers’ gleam,
And I would roll upon the floor and yell,
And he would hang immobile from a beam;

Sweet patchwork nights, when the rude owlet-screech
From darkling forest split our sleep to shreds,
And we would mutter softly, each to each,
And in sweet melancholy scratch our heads.

Many a road together have we fared,
Laughed at the gay and shuddered at the grim,
Many a cenobitic supper shared,
Kippers for me and kipper bones for him:

But this was long ago. Parted our ways,
Companionable sloth I have no more.
I am adventured into duller days,
I may no longer roll upon the floor.

He walked so slowly and I walked so fast,
He could not follow as I hurried on;
I was not first, but he was always last —
My little six-toed sloth, where is he gone?