‘Lone dog’ by Irene Rutherford McLeod

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 lapdog, 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 cuff and kick, and 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 long trail, the hard trail, the best,

Wide wind, and wild stars, and hunger of the quest!