"Rosco P. Coltrane" was the name to you we gave,
soon to be written in childe's scrawl above your garden grave.
"Pets die more oft' than people do," I told her as she cried,
it didn't help because to her more than a weasle died.
A friend, a toy, a pet, a joy, the girl had lost too much.
I held her as she sobbed and shook, and blubbered on, and such.
I do not understand, I'm sure, the pleasure she had found
in that smelly, creepy-looking thing that recently had drown'd.
So my silence I shall keep on this, I will not bitch or moan
or mention that we have a chance to make the Animal Stone.
For now, Rosco, I bid adieu, and hope the childe can bear it,
this grief your passing brought to us, so long you smelly ferret.
(C) 2008, Rufus Opus