He came to her, this golden child,
Through the shelter, he a bit wild,
Our dancing boy, old Coppertone,
A big fur ball, he loved his new home.

He 13 months of love and joy,
All my things became his toys,
Socks, belts and underwear too,
All these things he'd bring for you.

My wife, myself, and our boy Tone,
Through the woods us three would roam,
His leash in mouth, no help from us,
He'd walk himself without a fuss.

He loved us more than can be told,
I always thought that he'd grow old,
I didn't know life could be so cold,
I always thought that he'd grow old.

Grateful for our years of fun
We found our second furry one,
A Maltese pal for our first boy
With her he could share his toys.

She'd curl up in his arms so warm,
Little Brit, she felt no harm,
Would come to her, her Coppertone,
Her knight, his golden armor shone.

'Twas not long before we saw,
The hideous bump, his leg was raw,
If he knew the end was near,
He never showed at all his fear.

To the end he loved us all,
We'd still go out and play rock ball,
And medically we tried to stall
The end for our gold love ball.

In his eyes he was not sad.
His going home, he knew not bad.
If he could speak, he would have said,
"Be not sad, we'll meet again."

"The four of us and your new friends,
We 'II all meet up on Golden Ridge,
Just a stone's throw from the Rainbow Bridge"

I'm glad these things that l've now told.
But I always thought that he'd grow old.
I always thought that he'd grow old,

By John Arthur Newman