A Poem (*not about a cat)

The old scraggly cat napped on a bare, neglected pad of concrete.
It lifted its head slowly from its foreleg-bed,
The matted tufts of hair twisting from its cheeks: like a Chinaman’s beard,
If it were allowed to become filthy.
The cat’s tired eyes rolled to their corners to spy
The fluttering insects of spring.
Three butterflies danced by his side,
Attempting to charm him for a moment on their flight
To the blossoming dell beyond the cat’s cage

šŸ˜„

9-10-14.

Here is the raw version, pre-formatting. I include this form only because I don’t really know how – haven’t had much training in – formatting poems into lines and stanzas. I just winged it quickly, haphazardly. I rather like the below form better. Perhaps because it is more natural, or honest. It is simply – poetic prose, which is my way.

the old scraggly cat napped on a bare, neglected pad of concrete. it lifted its head slowly from its foreleg-bed, the matted tufts of hair twisting from its cheeks like a chinaman’s beard if it were allowed to become filthy. the cat’s tired eyes rolled to their corners to spy the fluttering insects of spring. three butterflies danced by his side, attempting to charm him for a moment on their flight to the blossoming dell beyond the cat’s cage. šŸ˜„

 

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