One pearly day in early May I walked upon the sand <br />And saw, say half a mile away, a man with gun in hand. <br />A dog was cowering to his will as slow he sought to creep <br />Upon a dozen ducks so still they seemed to be asleep. <br /> <br />When like a streak the dog dashed out, the ducks flashed up in flight. <br />The fellow gave a savage shout and cursed with all his might. <br />Then as I stood somewhat amazed and gazed with eyes agog, <br />With bitter rage his gun he raised and blazed and shot the dog. <br /> <br />You know how dogs can yelp with pain; its blood soaked in the sand, <br />And yet it crawled to him again, and tried to lick his hand. <br />'Forgive me Lord for what I've done,' it seemed as if it said, <br />But once again he raised his gun -- this time he shot it dead. <br /> <br />What could I do? What could I say? 'Twas such a lonely place. <br />Tongue-tied I watched him stride away, I never saw his face. <br />I should have bawled the bastard out, a yellow dog he slew. <br />But worse, he proved beyond a doubt that - I was yellow too.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yellow-2/
