A Modest Cat's Soliloquy
Anonymous
Far down within the damp dark earth
The grimy miner goes
Than I on chill nights may have
A fire to warm my toes;
Brave sailors plough through the wintery main
Through peril and mishap,
That I, on Oriental rugs
May take my morning nap.
Out in the distant meadow
Meekly graze the lowing kine,
That milk in endless saucerfulls,
All foaming, may be mine;
The fish that swim in the ocean
And the birds that fill the air -
Did I not like to pick their bones,
Pray, think you they'd be there?
No comments:
Post a Comment