"pawed" poems
The puppy sat by the door.
Near dying to go out.
Crying an abysmal wail
As if a naughty child.
Pawed and clawed the kitchen door.
No-one heard the honey pup.
Everyone was out.
Owner running late for work.
Neglected to let her run.
However could she forget.
It got to six a clock at night.
No-body came.
The tension built up.
Fluid build up.
Exploded sweet pup.
(metaphorically of course)
Owner came home.
Just couldn't be cross.
Cleaned up the muddle-some puddle.
Gave her puppy a hug.
Smiled to herself.
Said to puppy how sorry she was.
Cautionary tale acquired from here.
No matter how ever late you ever may be.
Put your cute puppy out to ***
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
THE BUFFALOES are gone.
And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and how they pawed the prairie sod into dust with their hoofs, their great heads down pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,
Those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
And the buffaloes are gone.
7.7k
Blue is the color of the dragon-winged girl,
The color of the girl whose life was lost.
Blue is the color of the deity girl,
The color of the one who wouldn't pay the cost.
Teal is the color of the water-loving girl,
The girl who lead into a new world.
Teal is the color of the frightened-eyed girl,
The girl who into a new life was hurled.
Grey is the color of the logical girl,
The color of the girl who teaches demons how to love.
Grey is the color of the snake-tongued girl,
The color of the boy who thought he was above.
Green is the color of the story-telling girl,
The color of her brother who would fight and **** to own.
Green is the color of the blind and mute child,
The color of those who may have yet to be known.
Orange is the color of the reckless girl,
The color of the girl filled by desire,
Orange is the color of the samurai man,
The color of the man filled with fire.
Red is the color of the five-fold girl,
The color of the demon at the core.
Red is the color of the half-vampire,
The color of the one who wanted more.
Purple is the color of the plaid-skirted girl,
The color of the feral demon child.
Purple is the color of the girl who lived in the sky,
The color of the eyes that watch the wild.
White is the color of the once-afraid man,
The color of the child who never got to have a say.
White is the color of the defender in the skies,
The color of the one who took her own life away.
Black is the color of the white-pawed cat,
The color of the girl who shows one their mind.
Black is the color of the silhouetted man,
The color of the world they left behind.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
we brought home this puppy,
black fuzz with caramel spots -
he has german flowing through his
small bodied, big pawed liveliness.
he is already wise like a shepard,
he lives up to his breed.
the boy that i love, his affection has
bloomed for something so stealthy,
so strong;
all he needs is his dog.
i thought i was just irrationally thinking,
but,
he only grazed my skin, kissed my lips
a total of four times today.
maybe tomorrow, it will be five.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
The pavement neath
my pad pawed feet
is sometimes rough
(They seldom Sweep)
I tour my little concrete Fief
with a boy on a chain
dragged off his feet.
I sniff and check
each rock and tree
to find which dogs
have stopped to ***
I roll a growl deep
in my throat
if I see rivals here about.
If perchance, Fifi I meet
I wag my tail and act real sweet.
She's French you know,
and , when in heat,
worlds can collide
and blend tout suite.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
We, too, had known golden hours
When body and soul were in tune,
Had danced with our true loves
By the light of a full moon,
And sat with the wise and good
As tongues grew witty and gay
Over some noble dish
Out of Escoffier;
Had felt the intrusive glory
Which tears reserve apart,
And would in the old grand manner
Have sung from a resonant heart.
But, pawed-at and gossiped-over
By the promiscuous crowd,
Concocted by editors
Into spells to befuddle the crowd,
All words like Peace and Love,
All sane affirmative speech,
Had been soiled, profaned, debased
To a horrid mechanical screech.
No civil style survived
That pandaemonioum
But the wry, the sotto-voce,
Ironic and monochrome:
And where should we find shelter
For joy or mere content
When little was left standing
But the suburb of dissent?
3.1k
Frosty Ghosts Escape My Throat,
Showing Themselves In The Damp Winter Air,
The Mist Sheilding My Eyes,
As Rusty Hinges Squeal--Brutally Forced Open,
Fingers Pawed In Soft Plush-Green Irises Plead,
Begging To The Three Remaining Stars To Change,
A Thin Layer Of Snow Coats The Dormant Grass,
A Soul Tries To Mimic The Effects,
Of Animated Slumber,
The Frosty Ghosts Swim In The Icy Air,
Dissolving In The Frigid Turquoise Sky,
Artifical Lights Blinding In The Refreshing Black,
Of The Dawning World,
Creatures Stur--Their Viewing Session Over,
Ghosts Swirls Around My Head,
A Stream Of Unspoken Words,
Entwined In Refuge
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
I was last on the register, so
as soon as I said
that I was still there
everyone stood up and left.
Katie was still there
and she pointed at me and
asked me if I was coming tonight.
I said that guessed not and she asked me
If I knew that she wasn’t
my girlfriend.
I didn’t answer so she informed me
that I wasn’t allowed to be jealous that
she goes to parties that I don’t.
I asked, ‘what party?’ and she rolled her eyes
and left. I walked out of the classroom alone and
wondering what the hell just happened.
James saw me across the yard
and shouted
if I was coming tonight.
I told him to **** off
and walked quicker
every time he tried to
call me back.
A few kids on the bus
swore at me through
the open window, their
middle fingers and crude words
working together in pitiless tandem.
I turned up the volume
in my ipod
and kept on walking.
It carried on snowing. It had been
three days now and three times
we had been called to assembly
so the headmaster could announce
which schools had been closed for the day.
That morning he was
proud to tell us
that we were the only school
in the area
to still be open.
The snow was four inches deep
and rising and grey and dangerous.
Through the frosted windows
in the front door I could see
my keys. I kicked the wall
and nearly shattered my toes.
I climbed over my gate to the back of my house.
For a while I thought about
breaking a window.
The cat found me and pawed me shins
and I told her I was sorry,
but I couldn’t let her in the house.
I sat in a frozen plastic chair
and looked across the white
and green garden. The cat
joined me, and sat on my lap,
her body as close to me as possible.
I zipped her up inside my jacket
so only her head poked out and
we sat there,
watching cartoon’s on my ipod.
Batman fought The Joker again, and
Gumball finally got to kiss Penny.
The Joker escaped again
and Gumball realised
that it was all a dream.
It got cold and dark and eventually
both the cat and I fell asleep.
My mother shook me awake
and unzipped my jacket to let the cat out.
She asked me if I had a good day at school, and
I rubbed my eyes
and told her that
I couldn’t remember.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
with half closed eyes, dry and prickly eye lid shuts
i can barely see the one who rambles in a classroom filled with chattering chickens.
so there i think of the swans by the lake, in switzerland, they were served strawberries, cranberries and oranges for dinner.
white heart shaped necks in flirtation and in-between twirls a strawberry orange smoothie. when i think of them, they seem unusually stunning, like never before.
a month later than when swans had their first strawberries I saw
they came to the markets here
several swan bite like packages
expensive as one crown swan can be
again in class.
the same swans came to my mind. only half dead still chewing on pieces of papaya. it is sad.
the task was to think of something sad.
only they seem to have sat in the strawberry cranberry mush they have pawed while in heat of mating. they are turning pink.
to be a swan in switzerland
you would get more sensation and meaning
than to be existing in this so called class among headless chickens.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Who’s to say how
He might come back for a second
inhumanely heaped-up helping,
if we grant that immensity
of our assumption He did come
kingly first into this inside-
out size from a do-you-miss-me-
yet’s mirthfully mythical realm
I have seen Him
lurking in a particle-board fine
finish on the thin outer membranes
of our estranged and better faces;
He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent,
but far too theoretical
for our broadly practical, turned-
away gazes to rediscover
There He is now
rising in the favela’s gap-
toothed grins with fabulously naughty
corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists
using cur jests his ***** charges
imagine as flightless quarrels
grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle
were they over-stuffed on golden grain
And there again
on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered
conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts
with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps
of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid
as dainty fingers crawl in toward
a gelatinous glob still clinging
to the powerful pretense it’s meat
And there once more,
conceding oms, He restless flickers
at the margins of blocky beige
Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks
circumnavigate the darkling
smooth patches and spit-spark a few
conscious drips to squiggle out from
the babble of noxious red seas
Emerged, this welp
won’t toddle off to dribble-stain
the dressy linens of a made-up
nanny’s well-mannered and ornate
evil; it will curl up instead,
a swaddled yawn with no yearn to
suckle under His real mother’s
gaping wide and grungy bloused best
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
Singing honey sucrose stream
Tidy shelving snug underneath
Nestled neatly inter-wing
Feather down cream
Mothers stroking cradle rocks
A thousand ***** of foam spill
Softly avalanche and bury
Pure angels in snow hands
Petal sky smeared casual
Walks warmly sweetly
Silken fur raises brow
At the coming
Lily padded velvet pawed
Strong slender limbs graceful dancing
The Supple strength
Holds a breath for dawn
Long stalks arch backs
Purring release modesty
Pure unction weeps complete
Smooth shell face washed in milk
A banner sail widened arms
Outstretched for breeze’s kiss
A wishing penny glides
Through water falling leaf
Mallow clouds woolen sheep
Dandelion umbrellas borne away
Slowly sinking Sun dyes autumn
Watercolour cascades melt
Thinly delicately imagined
Fragile world Mary’s peace
Doll dependent doting
Soul canopied sanctuary
Silence speaks
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
We encountered a white-tiled wall whose
purity lingered behind earthly browns,
salmon, grass, lavender acrylic paint. And this frozen scene chilled like hot breath on winter
glass, soil-mixed dividing stories of young, smiley-touched
girls whose hair was flaxen hills in
the country and whose
eyes were opalescent azures whose opalescence
was truly the only sign of thought beyond a
glassy grin.
Porcelain doll made of giggles and bubbles.
She fanned her fingers in a glorious sky and leaf peacock-feathered exuberance and pawed at the dry, gritty scene of a sailboat floundering towards a sunset.
She sees this world feelingly – one touch, two touch
Her smile is prayer-folded hands extending across her own little world
A prayer for this textured caricature of a little girl,
a happy puppet stuck until dark,
like the form the woman she’ll soon become
with her child-like fingers spidering across the stories she hopes to [but never will] tell.
Her dusty hands against the comforting tinge of a watermelon’s epicenter.
So pink, so raw, so vulnerable with the valor of another brush’s turn.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
Early this morning,
not quite the shilling,
my hair rustled
like a recent killing
of something black and once alive,
big black
Lucifer
dived at my head.
We tussled for five
in the warmth of my bed,
he pawed my hand like a prize
and his yellow eyes
were electric
and light.
He likes to fight.
His tail beats black against my navel.
He plays under the sheets like an excitable angel.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
She walked outside to get a breath of fresh air
She saw that there was snow on the ground
But she didn't have a jacket on
Just a skirt
With nylon leggings
The wind started to blow
And she felt the snow
Blow her around
And then it stopped
She shut the door
And went back inside
She walked over to the computer
And sat down in a wooden chair
And kind of shivered a little
As the snow was melting on her hair
She moved her head back and forth really quickly
And shaked the snow off of her hair
I don't look pretty
she giggled
She kind of smoothed out her hair
With her hands
And curled it around her fingertips
Then she felt kinda hungry
And left her chair
And started sliding a little
She got to the refrigerator door
She looked around
And there was a mountain dew
Yeah
She turned around quickly
And was spinning
And got a little dizzy
She drank her mountain dew
And burped
I'm drunk
She staggered back to the wooden chair
And set her pop by the computer
Which she's not suppose to do
But always does anyways
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmm
Hmm
Hmmm
Hmm
Hmm
Hmm
Hmm
She clicked on a video on youtube
And clicked out really quick
And made a sour face and squinted
She typed something else in
She looked down the screen
Scrolled down
Double clicked
Waiting for it to load
Clicked out
Didn't load
She kinda got a little upset
And grabbed her mountain dew
Got up from the computer
And smashed her knees against the stupid computer thingy
Spilled a little mountain dew on her skirt
Whatever
She grabbed her mountain dew
Held it by the inner tab
And spun around slowly
Didn't cut herself
Spinned around again
Heart racing
Didn't cut herself
Slowly took her pointer finger out
And started drinking again
She walked into the living room
Going
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmmm
Hmm
Sat down on the couch
With her kitten in the kitchen
By the computer
She turned the tv on
And watched spongebob squarepants
It was in the middle of the episode where mermaid man was saying
Evil
Eeeeevil
She just sipped her mountain dew quickly
And didn't swallow it right away
Then she rubbed her feet against the ground
And her kitten
Hopped away from the kitchen
And waited by her feet
She looked down
Made a face
And placed her foot on top of her kitty's head
And the kitten backed off and bumped into the tv
While the episode of spongebob was still playing
She changed the channel
Started kicking her feet
Back and forth
Without touching the ground
She looked outside
And the snow was blowing harder
So she got off of the coach
Opened the door
And felt the snow blow against her skin again
She shivered again
Shut the door
Shaked her head
Brushed down her hair
Ran into the kitchen
Then ran back upstairs
To her room
Turned around
And the kitten was at the bottom of the steps
She shut the door quickly
Fell to the ground
And looked under the door
And saw the kitten
She came close to the door
And pawed at it a little
Then hopped back down stairs
On the last step
Tumbled
She's left alone a lot
That's why she's so strange
She felt her stomach make a hungry noise
She was craving tacos
I wonder if there's any leftover tacos from yesterday in the fridge
She walks downstairs
Slides to the fridge
Kitten hops away
She opens the door
Nothing
She shuts the door
Slides back to the computer
Sat down
And started to feel really bored
Then got out of the chair
Walked over to the door
And felt it with her hand
Without opening it
It was cold out
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
snow ribbons the night behind blinds, white
crackle over vinyl, black in ravines
undulating silt whisks the sea, bed
conversation of springs, yawn
to sleep on a twin mattress, turtle,
interred: orange branch to grove floor, hear-witness
flutes in unbearable dawn unposessable, flesh
and lavender stir in sleepy eye beds, rosebuds and breath
condense warm on rickety panes, chipped
beams stray suspended through poplar clouds, dissolve
avocado in manila teem, damp hush to skin folds, pores,
unseen burrows, pawed and pinhead heartbeats, meek
but if in unison: rainfall tremendous on canvas cover, sinuous
as the shanty cat spine, lilting: raking grain to wispy tail, cursive
trickle over creekbed washboard scrubs, whisper
sudding lace over iris-leather bed, wheat
murmurs iridescent in squint-eyed flaxen wind.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
From puppyhood's hour I have not peed,
As others sniffed, I have not gleaned,
As others pawed, I could not seem,
To bark along with the canine teams.
From the hydrants red and wet with drizzle,
I have ne'er to leave my yellow stream,
For my bladder had all fizzled,
Clogged with endless hordes of fleas.
Then- at the vet's, one gloomy dawn,
A very strange device was drawn,
And poked and prodded where I ill,
Then I was forced to take a pill.
Then from the torrent of this river,
My shaggy fur began to quiver,
Upon my haunches did indeed I rose,
Feeling wetly coldness on my nose,
Then the raging yellow stream,
At last dislodged itself of fleas,
And to my great and sweet relief,
They lay a bone befor my feet.
_____________________
The original poem:
Share |
Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
--edgar allan poe
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 9:40 AM UTC
So you got the lips,
the tongue, the tadpoles
that slide, sliver, and slip
into wet crevices, the
insatiable lust, that kind
of desire that spreads
wildfires; the one, two,
southern pawed knock out
kiss, and right hook that brings
me back in; you got
the moves, your motions
like neon flashing arrows
scattered all over the dance floor;
they remind me of shards of glass
glistening beneath the burning
sun; O' how I ache
for the day I get to hold you
in these skinny arms;
beating on and on with
a worn out heart
steady and abiding;
a minimum wage soul
that rages and rages
until it can't take no more
and settles like the pedals
of honey scented flowers
where I thought I called you mine
and you were, for that one
fine day,
'till I opened my mind
and set you free;
O' how you happily
flew away.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
A burning Desire roars deep
within, an existing scarlet desire that
i will not feed, drip drop
drip
but always she exists
golden-maned lion, velvet-pawed lion
I know your hunger gnaws, and
I hear your hunger gnaws, no- I
feel your hunger gnaws
dispatched to my direction
I think
You think that I cannot hear you
I think
you think that I do fear you
But do you know
to whom you speak? These weathered hands
have gripped Tragedy
by its neck and dropped it on its head
You tug at my sleeve with eyes fixed
potent in plea for a satisfaction begging
for a satisfaction that
grant it I won't
Golden-maned lion
I will starve you til every rib shows.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
I didn’t blow up on Wednesday
although I heard the sirens outside my locked
window and pawed the dusty floor with my feet. It
was electric, the linoleum, humming from hallways doors clicking closed like the pink gun the cab driver shot out
the window on Purim (he was a cowboy), like
plastic soldiers clipped down in play war.
I didn’t blow up on Wednesday.
I ran this over in my head, hands raking
kotel grooves,
and it got to me.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 6:58 AM UTC
(PARODY, SATIRE & TRIBUTE)
From puppyhood's hour I have not peed,
As others sniffed, I have not gleaned,
As others pawed, I could not seem,
To bark along with the canine teams.
From the hydrants red and wet with drizzle,
I have ne'er to leave my yellow stream,
For my bladder had all fizzled,
Clogged with endless hordes of fleas.
Then- at the vet's, one gloomy dawn,
A very strange device was drawn,
And poked and prodded where I ill,
Then I was forced to take a pill.
Then from the torrent of this river,
My shaggy fur began to quiver,
Upon my haunches did indeed I rose,
Feeling wetly coldness on my nose,
Then the raging yellow stream,
At last dislodged itself of fleas,
And to my great and sweet relief,
They lay a bone befor my feet.
_______
The original poem:
Share |
Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
--edgar allan poe
Sep 18, 2010
Sep 18, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
I wish I could cry quietly.
I wish I could cry in peace and no one would disturb me.
Instead I'm cursed by these gut-wrenching wheezes that leave me gasping for air.
I wish my cheeks didn't squeeze up when I cry.
I look like a clown, I feel like a fool.
I wish people would have the decency to leave me alone.
Instead I'm patted and pawed at like a family dog.
Poor thing. Is there anything I can do?
No. Get out.
No one knows how to cry quietly.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
My cat, one day,
Discovered the mirror.
He jumped onto a table
And looked into it, sideways
And saw another reality
And was fascinated
And enchanted
And he just wouldn't let go
And again and again
Went after it.
The other cat was enchanted too
And he kept pawing at my cat
And meowing a similar meow
And he wouldn't let go either.
Though I tried telling him
That it was futile,
That his reality was different.
But my cat seemed not to agree.
Did he see something that I didn't?
He pawed at it every day
And kept pawing and meowing
Until, one day, he made it there.
Or so it seems.
For he's not here now
And neither is my dad
Nor my grandma, my little sister
And so many others
And many things, besides.
And little wisps of memories even.
They all seem to have succeeded
Like my cat.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
This one is for my mother
My only gift that maybe and probably
On some levels just a re-gift
Of the gift she has already given me
Over the years and through the many
Pages in the many books she has read to me
The books that she pulled from her red-wooden shelves
And sat on her lap on top of peach printed skirts
And underneath her pale pink colored nails
Words that grew legs in my mother’s mouth
And were so well fed that they grew hands too
Hands, that stretched out so far they reached my ears
And tapped on my ear drums moors code
Tales of other sleepy children who just
Wanted to stay up, “please just one more chapter longer”
“Please, I’m not even really tired”
Tales that when looking back I hate to think
I never realized
How these tales reminded me of her
From every little detail minute as the
Punctuations that penetrated the spaces
between my mother’s long winded breath
One story I remember in particular.
The crescent moon that cradled the cat.
The cat that escaped from her farm in search of more milk
Than the farmer was feeding it
That cat who ran to the sky thinking the Milky Way—was just that.
Only to realize the love of the famer
Tasted better than how stars
Felt on patted and pawed feet
So the moon held the cat and slowly dipped its semi- circle
Cavernous cradle down to the earth again
Into the hands of the farmer
My farmer, my mother earth
With one undone overall strap hanging below her shoulder
That in my childhood I would tip-top to thumb the edges of
That metal that spooned the silver button hook.
The shiny metal like a bookmark
That I hope will never find its page
In a book I hope my mother will read forever.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
Before you ask--no, I have not seen your cat.
Your cat left the house around 4:45 pm, while you were at work, I'm assuming. I'm assuming your room-mate left the door open and the cat saw an open space, a new world, waiting to be scratched and pawed and possibly snacked on. The cat walked out on you in this way.
The cat padded along the wooden steps, peacefully, quietly.
No one was around except a grasshopper, who died in the cat's mouth later.
Meanwhile, your room-mate brushed her teeth and did mouth rinse for as long as thirty-five seconds.
There were puddles in the road, and a car drove by and water splashed up into your cat's little face. The little face of your cat winced, and the little body shook off the water, and kept cat walking to nowhere in particular. Your cat--the zen master.
Seemingly out of no where, a large tree appeared, and the cat walked around the tree to the other side. A squirrel paused to observe the cat, cautiously.
Like the squirrel, the cat then proceeded cautiously around his or her own predator, the dog. The dog was chained to a fence though, and your cat was free.
When you came home from work, you were so tired you fell asleep and did not even notice that your cat was gone.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
A Stirring.
Three quivers of boldness coated in fur,
Courage minutely pawed at short grass
As that sunny day shone on a stirring
Of babiest mouse-life near my feet, fast
Yet unable to see, newborns on a spree
Posed for pictures and nibbled on cake
Like little pros, a shuffling trio of family
Shrews busied minikin fingers, quaking
Squeaky-delight as lips met free cuisine.
Whiskers a-twitch munching until Mum
Ushered them fussily holeward between
Sun-warmed granite stones. I had begun
To doubt the sighting encountered when
One tiny snout ducked out for eats again.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC