You never liked that dry stuff,
Had a gnarled tooth one time,
Was always catching colds;
Had a dirty face, sneezed on me,
Left fur on my black trousers—
I never should have chided you
However lovingly I chided.
And now you’re gone,
Alley cat,
Gone I hope,
Where no mean bird
May reach your bowl.
I should like to die on a splendid day at the height of summer, under a radiant blue sky on a bed of flowers. If it were not for my morbid longing for the picturesque, I should not mind expiring as wildlife do, 
the rose garden 