An angel and a dog sat on a ridge.

Sun set before them;
Cloud stretched from earth to heavens;
Wind came up behind them;
And tousled their fur and feathers.

Said angel to dog,
"You lucky creature of earth.
You never made a choice,
Never had to doubt,
Never bore the burden
Of knowing what life's about."

Replied dog to angel,
"You lucky creature of heaven.
You got to make a choice,
Got to help a man,
Got to soothe his pain
As I but wish I can."

Said once more the angel,
"Of words of thanks
I have been deprived;
Yet you are scratched
And given rawhide."

Replied again the dog,
"Those same hands of man,
That pet and pacify,
My brothers sadly learned
They can beat and vilify."

Shouted angel at dog,
"Consider yourself lucky,
That body is all they mar;
You cannot even fathom
Torturous souls lost to dark."

Evenly dog to angel,
"Am I not of creation?
Am I not creation speaking?
I suffer the blood of my grandfathers,
And of my grandsons.
I know naught else,
But this I know completely."

Snidely angel in retort,
"I see suffering of thousands6—
All the world to lament;
Your grandfather and your son
Are not even a percent."

Somber the dog,
"And you are not an angel,
That is most evident.
Of your choice you live now,
As you died then.
Please leave me now this view,
And my destiny to man's kin."

The angel dropped to the raging sea below,
And flopped in the snow;
In rage he threw the hailstone back,
And before the tempest flew.

The dog sat a while longer,
And admired the peaceful scene;
Till a call came from the woods,
And he sped back with glee.