I know Wild Tide isn’t the place you’d traditionally come for poetry (I’ve never posted it before), but this week I stumbled across a poem which I think sums up some of Wild Tide’s spirit and ethos. I’ve decided to share it with you, as I know the intelligent, beautiful, sophisticated sort of people who read Wild Tide will connect with it, in at least some small way.
This poem is by Irene Rutherford McLeod Who lived from 1891 — 1968, I think it’s great.
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 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!
