YOU'RE only a dumb little dog, Jack,
  About ten or twelve pounds or so,
And your wits must be all in a fog, Jack,
  If you have any wits, I know.
But you've two such soft brown eyes, Jack,
  And such long grey silky hair;
And, what very much more I prize, Jack,
  Such a warm little heart in there.
They say warm hearts are rare, Jack,
  And I almost believe that it's true;
But there ar'n't many hearts can compare, Jack,
  With that staunch little heart in you.
Of course, we that speak and can read, Jack,
  Have plenty of friendships sweet;
But, in spite of them all, there's a need, Jack,
  For a friend like the friend at my feet.
This planet must seem a queer place, Jack,
  To your poor little limited mind;
For I fancy you never can trace, Jack,
  The reasons for half that you find.

You're not bothered with questions like us, Jack,
  About forces and morals and laws;
And you never get worried or fuss, Jack,
  When you cannot discover a cause.
But you go your own little way, Jack,
  With a wag of the tail for a friend;
And in spite of our talk, I dare say, Jack,
  That we don't do much more in the end.

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Frederick George Scott

Frederick George Scott was a Canadian poet and author, known as the Poet of the Laurentians. more…

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"Jack" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 7 Apr. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/14238/jack>.

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