I am a pussy cat.
I may roll over and let you tickle my tummy,
purring, dozing peacefully by the fire.
Sweet little kitty, homeless little kitty.
But beware my claws as you tickle me.
Beware my fangs if you wake me.
See my shadow in the alley at midnight.
Am I kitty cat, or tiger?
I am a pastoral scene
belonging to ancient England green.
Stately oak and lazy river,
place of shade and tranquil giver.
The river flows to turbulent sea.
where mighty storm and maelstrom be.
The roots of oak push earth aside,
insinuate, grip, hold, and hide.
I am the strength of weakness.
The sanity of madness.
The sadness of joy.
The rose of the thorn.
©1997 Ken Hammond
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