POEM


R.I.P.

The old man knocked on the heavenly gate,
His face was scarred and old.
He stood before the man of fate,
for admission to the fold
"What have you done" St. Peter said,
"to gain admission here"
"I´ve been a dog-breeder Sir" he said
"for nigh on fifty year"
The purly gates flung open wide.
St. Peter clanged the bell
"Come in and choose your harp", he cried,
"You´ve had your share of hell"

(J. Parkinson)