Well shiver me timbers,
there’s no fire, just embers.
Night air, filled with chill,
frigid alone with my quill.
Meow? Doth you say?
Do tell, I’ll listen,
come what may.
A night, dark as your fur,
dancing gypsies glitter above in a blur.
Quiet and stillness builds a scene,
I’ll wait for the moment, graced by your sheen.
There! Her light steps now I hear.
Quick, into my lap, in a glimpse, she’ll appear.
The hiss and growl, so scary as a kitten,
alas, it seems now he is smitten.
-Kristi L. Miles (Winter 2005/2006)