You sit there so primly,
Before the fireplace,
Washing ears and tail,
And whiskers on your face.
Stretching out each morning,
In patch of sunlight long,
Twitching your pink nose,
As the robins sing their song.
You have a mind of your own,
When called you never hear,
Too busy chasing mice,
Who tremble hard in fear.
You do have your faults,
As every housecat does,
But still we love you dearly,
Love is "is" not "was".
No comments:
Post a Comment