THE DOG . . . a poem

THE DOG

I like a dog at my feet when I read,
Whatever his size or whatever his breed.
A dog now and then that will nuzzle my hand
As though I were the greatest of men in the land,
And trying to tell me it’s pleasant to be
On such intimate terms with a fellow like me.

~~~

I like a dog at my side when I eat,

I like to give him a bit of my meat;

And though mother objects and insists it is bad

To let dogs in the dining room, still I am glad

To behold him stretched out on the floor by my chair.

It’s cheering to see such a faithful friend there.

~~~

A dog leads a curious life at the best.

By the wag of his tail is his pleasure expressed.

He pays a high tribute to the man when he stays

True to his friend to the end of his days.

And I wonder sometimes if it happens to be

That dogs pay not heed of the faults which men see.

~~~

Should I prove a failure, should I stoop to wrong;

Be weak at a time when I should have been strong,

And fill with my blundering many an ear,

But still, as I opened my door, I should see

My dog wag his tail with a welcome for me.

Edgar A. Guest