Odes of Strangers X

The heart-felt joy of play
One finds in youth, ever striving
For the pure emotion.
And Nero, your heart is light,
In you is joy, the turning of your marble
Toys and the marching of them in their rows.

Old, though, we find you
As you put on your wolf's attire
And with drawn leash are led through
The meadowgrounds.

Innocent, though strange,
Your boyhood's emotions flood into you
Pure, like the syringe.
You bark, you trot, you kick your feet
In the mud.
You wag your tail and I find no sin in it.

Then, the disapproval settles in.
The peoples look on you
And do not understand the spectacle,
The unstructured exorcism of imagination.
What is beautiful, what is serenity
What is joy, is now poisoned forever.

You push it down into your soul
For play was all you knew.
Play was everything you had.
The joy, the frivolity,
The utter freedom.
Constrained to your dog costume---
For you are now old,
And have chosen just this one form of play
As is consistent with sagacity---
But no-one shares your joy.

It is I who sees you are not sinning
But are filled with hearty laughter
And you feel pure child's joy.
I understand you...
But the stranger shares not your joy.

So, what was first innocent
Becomes howling sin.