Cats, Poetry & Death #1: Death in the Orchard

 

 

The old cat that had perhaps once had a name
Was just Puss for twelve blissful years
‘Til today when lying under his favourite apple tree
His purring stopped and Puss was no more

She pats the earth, muddy handed
And sheds one more tear for her old friend
Now young again and chasing birds
In his own special paradise

Later sitting at her desk, staring half out
Into the orchard, half at the photo of Puss
She sighs and closes her note book
No words today, no verse, no muse to conjure

Time can heal so slowly but distraction heals as well
She moves her mind to new beginnings and so
Sets about a search of kinds, in small ads and windows
To revitalise her life and resuscitate her inspiration

The writer writes anew, an ode to her old pal
And interrupting this a scampering, bouncing, pouncing
Nuisance roams and bounds and calls for her
The kitten, (just called Kitty) has sparked her fire once more

Iain

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