The Cat
There is a certain softness there
to be found,
A catch in
your breath, a sigh, this warming,
Subtle as a
feather drifting to the ground,
So bright,
alive, a raging fire forming.
An eggshell
hides gold secrets therein,
Placid cover
to brilliance concealed,
Every crack makes
heart pound at ribs within
Shining
leaks lauding the wonders revealed.
The soft feline
slink, an effortless motion
Independent,
yet kindness overflows,
Ferocious
love, every step devotion,
A burning
that, with every breath, just grows,
But to cage
such feeling in words seems cold,
They would
be unworthy still if written on gold
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