When on that day the last bark rings To call the dog-like throng, Rover shall rise and don his wings, And raise his voice in song; He'll raise his voice in song and sing, In ecstasy of dog-like things. And weaving pattersn with thier tails, The Joyous dog-like hosts, Will elad him through celestial vales, And miles and miles of posts, To meadows full of gopher holes, Which he can sniff and dig for moles. Then shall I shout and throw a stick, And bounce his ball and hide his bone, Or stop and help him find his tick, And call him to his home; His home where he can take his ease, In sunny spots and scratch his fleas. And I shall take him by the hand, And feed him mush, and pull his ears, And he will grni, and understand, And lick away these tears. On that great day of the final bark, Rover (as usual) will beat the lark.
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