Pied cat, wearing white paws
Tiptoeing across the carpet
as she ignores
my pleas to join me out of doors

Skiffle, my pied pussy-cat
knows that January snows
have sat
for days now in the front door-mat

But where is the grass ?
Her eyes say: snug inside
the window glass
as she stares me down, bold as brass

My breath hangs in the icy air
as I play and run and get
snow in my hair
And Skiffle watches, with disapproving glare

It would be fun if she'd play out with me.
But now, in dark winter
that won't be.
For cats are solar powered, you see