I hear of a place that is made of gold,
a place where we shall never grow old,
but one answer I have not heard at all,
will there be paw prints from my little dog?
He promised us joy right from the start.
I just wonder if she'll be a part.
So as I sit here and dream of the day,
I wonder if in heaven she will stay?
When you're walking down with the saints of old,
take a glimpse of that new road,
and if there you shall see,
maybe a paw print just for me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem