A boy speaks

Dear God: He was an old-man dog. . . .
 Here is his bowl and his pillow.
We buried him this morning
 Beneath the garden willow. . . .
If terriers go to Heaven
It's raining so tonight,
 Please whistle, God, and pet him
 Until he seems all right. . . .
 God, if he will not eat,
But maybe just stands still
Please pick him up a little
 And talk to him until
 He wags his tail against you,
 Then let him lick your chin.
He was my dog. . . (Old Buddy)
 Please, God. . . please take him in.

 -Queene B. Lister