LONE DOG




I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone;
I’m a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own;
I’m a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep
I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep.

I’ll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet,
A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat,
Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate,
But shut door, and sharp stone, and a cuff, and a kick, and a hate.

Not for me the other dogs, running by my side,
Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide.

O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail, the best,
Wide wind, and wild stars, and the hunger of the quest.

I.R. Macleod

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