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Your big eyes
have none of the wisdom
that I wish upon them.
Not by half.
And when mine cry
your casual claws
scratch the surface
as you laugh.
When you glide
into my yellow life
you hiss and spit,
my courage dies,
I realise
that I have one,
but you,
you have nine lives.
3 comments:
Yes. They understand nothing of the details we wish someone would understand. But they love us anyway, or at least that's the theory.
There's something about felines that just inspires poetry.
Look at Calvin.
JP: That theory works for me. I have a question, though. Do they crave for love and affection bang in the middle of the night? Is that normal?
Young Thos: I completely agree. The number of poems I have written for cats in the past is not funny. You may want to check out http://strausstales.blogspot.com
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