Monday, April 12, 2010

Sleeper

O cat,
quite fat,
quite prone there
with naught a care
but to purr,
and clean your own fur,

and cause an unconscious fusion
that warms the sofa's cushion,
what's it like,
you bird-hungry tyke-
but you do not tell.

You never tell, never
even on the verge of it.

5 comments:

  1. I have a really fat cat.

    I will recite this poem to her.

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  2. Excellent! :)

    If she high-tails it out of the house after you recite the poem and never comes back, don't blame me.

    But they never do that of course.

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  3. I think that's a beautiful poem!
    You've certainly got a gift :)

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  4. Not a cat lover at all but this is a fine poem. :-)

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  5. Thank you Gabriella and Owen. I'm glad you both like it!

    ReplyDelete