Saturday, 3 May 2008

Mornings

The lightest,
almost languorous touch
of a black velvet sheath
would begin it,
exploring the air,
stretching and extending sharp claws,
declaring it morning.

The briefest of velvet caresses
before the paw jostled,
the claws took hold,
and there’d be no respite
until I rose
to prepare breakfast.

Mornings begin
more peacefully now,
but who would choose
to be without
the purring,
questioning invitation,

without velvet?

9 comments:

Jean said...

My wee cat died recently. She was 18 or 19 years old - a good age for a cat.

Zhoen said...

Never the same. I am sorry for your loss.

Marja-Leena said...

Lovely ode to your wee cat.

Dale said...

Oh, Jean, I'm sorry.

A beautiful poem.

xoxoxo

Natalie d'Arbeloff said...

Sorry about this loss of a dear animal, Jean. She had a good life with you, I'm sure. Lovely poem.

Rosie said...

that was a fine goodbye to a friend

Bitterroot said...

A lovely tribute.

MB said...

Jean, I'm sorry.

This really is a lovely poem.

Pica said...

Sorry to hear about this, Jean. Hugs. Wonderful you were able to write the poem, though.