“The Blank Somebody’s left the garden gate ajar; He won’t run out. No need to back the car So carefully because . . . And in the hall You will not trip against that much-chewed ball (I bought a new one, just a week ago, For his next birthday. He will never know). We’ve cleared up everything; there’s not a trace- Lead, collar, basket -- yet his wistful face Peers round each corner; halfway down the stair One turns expectant . . . surely he is there? Then you remember, and the silence dear Answers our question. “No, he is not here.” PoemDeath Of A Dog Book:My Dog and Yours Source: My Dog and Yours