Jean watched her dog be buried swiftly
In the muddy ground.
Her father would not meet her gaze,
His own eyes wand’ring round.
He prematurely told her what
He thought about its fate:
That there was no doggy heaven
Or tiny pearly gates.
She didn’t want to think that God
Forgot her furry friend,
That its long years of faithfulness
Were truly at an end.
He really was too young to die.
In fact, he’d just turned eight.
Jean prayed he’d have eternal life
Inside those pearly gates.
“He had to have a soul,” she cried.
“I just have to believe,
And then one day I’ll see his face
In a place he’ll never leave.”
Then one sad day, poor Jean died, too,
In a weak but peaceful state.
In just one blink she found herself
Outside the pearly gates.
She saw no dogs or cats or birds or
Beasts of any kind.
Her faithful dog just wasn’t there,
And yet she didn’t mind.
“Well done, my child,” she heard God say,
Judging her eternal fate.
That was all she needed, then or ever
Inside the pearly gates.
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