It’s Not the Same

It’s not the same,

since you died.

The door to your room remains closed.

As I look at it sadly,

I miss seeing your eye peering under it,

and your little foot reaching out.

Mommy and I ate in the kitchen tonight,

and you were not here parading across the room.

Your spot on the rug looks so empty without you on it.

Mommy found your little furry gray toy mouse. We

miss seeing you layng on the rug and batting at your mouse

with your hind feet.

Your spot on the couch looks so lonely and empty without you.