I had a cat named Luna,
She had nightingale feathers
Her eyes were made of green glass,
Her black cardboard snout.
My white angora cat died,
My piece of hope died
And four of us carried it
Wrapped in cotton cloth.
I dug a hole behind a poplar tree,
With my spoon and my fork,
I have covered it with fine sand,
And a chrysanthemum in bloom.
I have prayed an Our Father to it,
And I have cried my last goodbye
How alone my cat Luna dies
How alone and sad I live.

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