There is no hunting ground in heaven,
not for you.
Heaven’s not for pussycats.
I’m sorry you’re dead.
I’m sorry you may have nowhere to go.
There are no mice or moles
in the heaven that I know.
Heaven’s perfect
and does not need pussycats.
There are no crumbs for mice to eat,
nor any worms for moles.
There are no fireplaces to lie before,
only souls.
And pussycats have no souls.
Sorry, Owl.
Sorry you died.
249 ®Copyright 1972 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.
From Poemystic.com