Maggie's Farm

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 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 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 lone trail, the hard trail, the best, 

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