by Amy Tenowich
I have always preferred,
The ones who are furred,
Those who are leathered,
And the ones who are feathered.
When they leave us, there is a pain,
That words or logic can't explain.
But maybe they are in a perfect place,
Where they can still feel my embrace.
Death for me will be alright,
If at that time I reunite,
With all the creatures I still love,
Who look down on me from up above.