You give us good bites from the table
Where Daddy will just pet our fur
Lil nuggets of chicken or salmon
Like perfectly made petits four

Your ballet nails scratch our backs
Our sleepy eyes close in delight
And then suddenly you sneeze us awake
So we have to shout Meowsundheit

This tiny poem will show you our love
More than any pretty flowers say
And so we're forever your cutey kittens
Happy Meower's Day

OCHI: OH BOX I HIDE

.           Oh
.           middle
.           finger
How    I do        need
thy      simple    gest
to         handle   the
***       holes      who
oft       cross       the
rue      of my     day

I am your champion
  for when you lose your way
And a shoulder to cry on
  so let life come as it may

I am your champion
  when you have nothing to say
The one who will be here
  until we're old and gray

You are worth fighting for

Truth is paradise. It leads men's souls to an island alone.

Gentle waves reflect
Star undimmed guiding my path
Still as Winter ends

I am big on iambic pentameter
  About that I could never lie, since
I pass every poetic parameter
  And earned my poetic license

Cats have dreams, or so it seems
Their paws move like Mike Andretti
Chase laser beams on carpet seams,
Or dangling strings of spaghetti
Perhaps they recall catching some small
prey on the ancient Serengeti
And then just doze in a treetop repose
"I'll just snooze until they pet me!"

Mr. Tilden leapt from a building
and died from multiple contusions.
Later his wife lamented his life
(quote) he always jumped to conclusions.

At the end of a great writer...

"The most important moments are at the end.
10 minutes in youth may be unworthy.
These last moments will make all the difference to me,
but I will not remember one of them."

The newborn speaks and the men listen...

"Is the soul in the mind of the writer, or in the writing itself?
How does our consciousness pass on?"

The old man lays down his glasses the last time...

"I will now sleep and dream, and in the morning I may cry my first."