I will lend to you for a while
a kitten, God said,
for you to love her while she lives
and to mourn for her when she is gone.
Maybe for twelve or fourteen years,
or maybe for two or three,
but will you, till I call her back
take care of her for me?

She'll bring her charms to gladden you
and (should her stay be brief)
you'll always have her memories
as solace for your grief.
I cannot promise that she will stay,
since all from earth return.
But there are lessons taught below
I want this kitten to learn.

I've looked the whole world over
in search of teachers true,
and from the folk that crowd life's land
I have chosen you.
Now will you give her all your love?
Nor think the labor vain.
Nor hate me when I come to take my kitten back again.

I fancied that I heard them say
"Dear Lord Thy Will Be Done,"
for all the joys this kitten will bring,
the risk of grief you'll run.
Will you shelter her with tenderness?
Will you love her while you may?
And for the happiness you'll know forever-grateful stay.

But should I call her back
much sooner than you've planned,
please brave the bitter grief that comes
and try to understand.
If, by your love, you've managed
my wishes to achieve,
in memory of her that you've loved,
cherish every moment with your faithful bundle,
and know she loved you too.