A blue cat with a blue hat,
named Pattrick, or Pat,
Comes closer to a white rat,
on his back, gives a pat,
And asks, "Oh, Mr Rat!,
"I am Mr Pat, the cat,
Write your name on my hat,"
Rat, scared and fat,
Knows can't run a bat,
Says, " 'I am the father of Pat",
Blue Pat, now a red cat,
Thunders," What you say, rat?"
Rat says, "My daughter is Pat,
Patricia is a white furry rat",
Squeaking in front of cat,
"Tell me your name, stupid rat",
Says now a di-coloured Pat,
Rat says, "I am Pat, the rat,"
"No! I am Pat, the cat,"
"Yes, and I am Pat the rat",
"Stop messing, you stupid Pat,"
"Yes, Pat is stupid and fat,"
Now, Pat had a smoking hat,
Pat hurls so hard to small Pat,
Pat jumps side to his hole of rat,
From inside, comes shout of Pat,
"Hey, Pat the cat, I am Pat the rat",
"And Pat the cat, is stupid and Fat,"
Pat the cat, removes his blue hat,
A pile of its pieces, on them he sat,
Sits there Pat, till comes out Pat.

Oh, my muse! Without you these gardens,
Though spring still comes after frosty winter,
And flowers still bloom, in corners and center.
But there's none to admire daisys alongside,
No-one to watch bluebells and remnicise.

Oh, my muse! Without you these roads,
Though they are still bustling with public,
All moving, to and fro, healthy and sick,
But my walks are far from straight path,
Staggering forward with only little faith.

Oh, my muse! Without you these days,
Though I wake up and follow my routine,
And watch some old and some new scenes,
But somethings always missing from the play,
The lead whose entry seems to be delayed.

Oh, my muse! Without you these nights,
Though Luna spreads it's silvery moonlight,
And twinkling stars still light the dark sky,
But my heart is far from being tranquil,
A slight bump and the chalice may spill.

Oh, my muse! Without you my pen,
Though it still writes whenever it is asked,
And forms phrases any when needed,
But the poems in my mind hide in dark.
For you to come, ignite them with a spark.