The Law of the Wild: What a Pack of Dogs Taught Me About Self-Worth

The Law of the Wild

Six suitors trace her dusty track, A wild and chasing, patient pack, She does not turn, she does not flee— She holds the crown of destiny.

For nature rules with heavy hand, An ancient law across the land: Before she gives her sacred trust, The strongest rise above the dust.

And on the sink, a different race— A hurried line of frantic pace, Where tiny ants in shadows creep, To grab whatever they can keep. They do not wait, they do not choose, They scramble for a crumb to use— Just desperate for a fleeting taste, They claim the scraps in mindless haste.

But we, with all our human pride, So easily are tossed aside. We do not wait to test the stride, Or let the worthy claim our side.

We hear a sweet and fleeting word— "You're cute, let's go"—and we are stirred. Like ants, we grab at any spark, And trace the trail into the dark, Forgetting what the wild things know: That sacred things must mature slow.