Monday, February 16, 2009

February 28, 1996

February must have been poetry month in sixth grade, or something like that. This one isn't the complete poem- I only wrote down what I thought was the funniest, most overly dramatic stanza from a much longer poem about our first cat. His name was Kitya, and what you have to know is that a: he was black, and b: he left us for a family across the alleyway. I wasn't really that bothered, but you might not be able to tell that from this poem...

His eyes were the mists as sea,
rolling, rolling waves of amber, blue, and green.
His fur was soft, silken cloth in mourning.
His paws walked silently by, that's why no one awoke when
he purred his last purr and went out the door.

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