This was sent to me by Adrienne. Many thanks to all who sent condolences about Clondike.
The Eternal Whistler
It is the eternal whistler
Who goes whistling up the sky
And at his heels are the weary dogs
That have come to him to die,
He whistles them over the far off clouds
And up to the Golden Gate
And then he whistles a softer note,
While they sit and they pant and they wait.
Then quickly he whistles a shriller blast
As slowly the gate swings wide
And when nobody's looking, St. Peter winks
Then hustles them all inside.