He tried to bite my arm once, as I first held him down – his executioner.
But then, even as he struggled for just a little more life,
gripped with fear, confusion, and my arms, he remembered his love for me.
This was his nature.
With no way of comprehending what was happening to him,
his gentleness shone, and he let me hold him still, and only whimpered “Why?”,  until the poison took him, as I had decided it should.

That was a few years ago now, but that memory can still bring tears, as it does now.
In his prime he could have torn me apart,
but never would have.
He was good. 
The thought of ever hurting me had never entered his mind.
There was no evil inside him.
Can I say the same about myself?

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