Itís Rufus, your dog that moved on.
Iím here, up in heaven, with Jesus and John.
Iím sure itís surprising to learn of my fate,
but it doubtless will help your emotional state.
Deep down, yes, you hope it; pets walk through these gates,
Balaamís ass, Davidís lamb, (someoneís monkey of late);
my puppy dog eyes, her cauliflower ears,
the fat ham on legs, all are welcome here.
I heard you while dying, my fur in your tears,
I heard you two talkingóyou and Pastor Beer.
You said thereís no heaven, no leafy green glades
where purebreds like me can rest in the shade.
You said weíve no soul, so how can we be
in some place so goodly, so glorious and free?
I beg, Maíam, to differ. Your logic is skewed;
some darn theologian should have it reviewed.
The Bible says lion and lamb shall be kind
and lie down togetheróno dinner in mind.
It says: all flesh will see salvation of Him;
it says that my future does not look so grim.
Iíve found that quite true--Iím having a ball--
I jump and I catch and I run and I crawl.
Iíve found one and all to be full libertarian--
as such weíve all become staunch vegetarians.
I play with the kids; I roll in the forests;
I dig nice deep holes; I bark with the chorus.
Every hour thereís a treat or a walk in third gear,
and, dare I confess it? Iím happier here.
So cheer up dear Betsy, weíll meet by and by,
(real soonís what I figureÖwith your appetite for pie...).
Itís lovely up hereóso peaceful, such bliss.
Hasta luego, dear Betsy,
with a kiss.
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