As promised. This is an incredibly simple poem, but it has fantastic resonance.
Praise of a Collie
She was a small dog, neat and fluid --
Even her conversation was tiny:
She greeted you with bow, never bow-wow.
Her sons stood monumentally over her
But did what she told them. Each grew grizzled
Till it seemed he was his own mother's grandfather.
Once, gathering sheep on a showery day,
I remarked how dry she was. Pollochan said, "Ah,
It would take a very accurate drop to hit Lassie."
She sailed in the dinghy like a proper sea-dog.
Where's a burn? -- she's first on the other side.
She flowed through fences like a piece of black wind.
But suddenly she was old and sick and crippled .
I grieved for Pollochan when he took her a stroll
And put his gun to the back of her head.