He came into our lives one day,
So cold and wet and weak;
He only moved to raise his head,
But had no voice to speak.

I didn't know from where he came,
Or who had brought him there.
I only knew he needed help,
And someone who would care.

He was too weak to walk or stand,
And so I carried him,
And took him home to nurture though,
His chance at life was slim.

The kids thought he was ugly and,
He wouldn't last the night,
And as I looked into his eyes,
I feared they might be right.

We cleaned and gave him food to eat,
And tried to calm his fears,
Then hoped with faith and inner strength,
He'd live for many years.

For several days he grew in strength,
And as our fondness grew,
We also hoped he'd want to stay,
And learn to love us too.

And then we learned the tracks had been,
The place he knew as home,
And so we called him Hobo 'cause,
It fit his need to roam.

But later as he grew to trust,
The love and care we gave,
His roaming ways would disappear,
And with us he would stay.

And so for years that numbered twelve,
We learned to love and share,
This house and yard that was our home,
And hearts that show we care.

But now the sands of time are gone,
His time with us complete,
Yet in our hearts he'll always be,
In memories 'oh so sweet.

And one day, as I live and breath,
Again I'll see his face,
And then I'll pet and hug his neck,
And feel his warm embrace.

James O'Brien
Oct. 2003