PeterTBexley

Small scrap of life with glossy fur improbable snout neat little feet, you were rescued from a snake and you nestled in our warm hands, flattening yourself to fit into my fist, snout peeping out. My son bustled around, found a box, made plans for a cosy home. We left you under a warm light and in the morning you curled into his hand still alive but very quiet. I tried to get a drop of warm milk into your mouth and you swallowed, I thought. Just after my son left for school you stretched once in my hand and died. Nothing left but to find a matchbox for your burial. Small soul - are a man's sudden hot tears enough be