She beckoned for me to look up at the evening sky from our spot in the tall grass.

It was a beautiful, tragic sight.

She beckoned for me to hold her hand,

her kind-of hand.

It was strong and soft.

She beckoned for me to pet and ruffle her head.

It drew out a cute laugh from her,

From the depths of her soul.

She beckoned for me to rid my mind of her chuff.

It made my heart wince but gave it light in turn.

She beckoned for me to go,

To leave her to the night.

I beckoned for her to come into my arms,

And she beckoned for me never to let her go.

"Actually, maybe not never,"

Her fur, a catastrophy of gray fur waving in the breeze, flickered before the sunset.

"How about when the stars fall?"