.
Rolling on the carpets,
In coyest plead for a belly
Rub and groom, little Fae,
Each day a Saturday morning,
Shining as hot coffee, wafting
In cool sun, with blue, mist deep
Eyes, lazily ensconced in a glaze
To the out of doors— I set her free
As a casement window sprung, let,
To roam the grass canopies and hunt
All the lovelorn hours of the cying day.
Sparrows flutter and milky doves gurgle
From on high and leaves rustling pound
As she prowls in motions slow, so much
To pounce upon, when all too sudden,
Fish or fowl are flung in a golden bowl
Mealtime turns in rings from a can to her,
Wilding, famished ear.
In long mood afternoons she returns,
Furriously plays with flicks of shadows
And twine, then a knap on a tick
Of whiskers and cream,
In the garden jungles
Of the drowsy fawn
And mince of mice
Scurries of heed
In the silence—
Of lollIng breeze,
Gentle days, sways
Of terror and yawn,
Tufted cubby roaring,
Wee tiger of the lawn.
