Just this side of heaven, beyond the starry dome,
There is a fragrant forest where our Beagle friends can roam.
With endless trails to follow, and scents upon the breeze,
They track the sweetest flowers beneath the ancient trees.

All the hounds who grew too tired, whose aging joints were sore,
Have found their youthful bound again, not hurting anymore.
Their happy bays echo with joy, so musical and clear,
Running through the golden woods, without a single fear.

Until suddenly, one stops—and lifts their gentle nose,
They catch a very special scent that every Beagle knows.
They see you walking up the path, their true and loving friend,
And as they sprint into your arms, the waiting finds its end.