A copper-white streak across the field,
Darting through dunes, power to wield . . .
A Brittany spaniel at home on the moors
Not of French, but Vineyard shores.
Like a king atop ridges he’d survey his land,
Alert ears, tail — and again sail the sand.
When he did pause and gaze with amber eyes
Upon those he loved, with his soul so wise . . .
’Twas clear Copper to no other could compare: