Two friends were smoking, enjoying the hour:
An old dog wheezed, even creaked, at their feet
“Soon so soon, the dog-god she’ll go to meet,
Pain she’s in makes her shake and cower,
When she goes I’ll plant her in the bower.”
"Like the cookies? They’re made from real good sheet
The strained off leaves are in a pile out back."
Ol’ dog staggered out, no great show of power
She ate the cast off and laid still as death
Stoners dug her grave under a tree
But she woke up, all pain gone, feelin’ free
They gave her pot to the end of her days,
In cheerful stoniness she lived in health
Before going to her shady grave to lay.