FOREWORD
A swirl of gold-and-white and gray and black,—
Rackety, vibrant, glad with life’s hot zest,—
Sunnybank collies, gaily surging pack,—
These are my chums; the chums that love me best.
Not chums alone, but courtiers, zealots, too,—
Clean-white of soul, too wise for fraud or sham;
Yet senseless in their worship ever new.
These are the friendly folk whose god I am.
A blatant, foolish, stumbling, purblind god,—