Eulogy For A Terrapin, by Annabelle Cooke, age 8½.
I liked the way you ate your food,
and swam about the place.
I didn’t like to clean up your poos,
or the way you hid your face.
When you get to your Heaven,
could you ask God (or Jesus)
that Annabelle would like to know
why they thought you should leave us.
(Also, if you aren’t too busy,
please ask Father Christmas
if I can have another terrapin
for my birthday, or maybe Christmas.)
Farewell, Mr. Terrapin,
it will be sadder here without you.
I’m sorry that you died today.
There’s nothing else to say about you.