* * *
Now my pretty little kitty,
She is dead and gone for aye;
And it seems so sad a pity,
That I cannot see her play.
I had thought if she kept growing.
She would soon he a big cat;
And that she would be so knowing.
She would catch the mice and rats.
She was treated just as kindly,
As a petted child could be;
And perhaps was just as blindly
Killed with kindness, that may be.
Now she is not any better
Than a once loved worn out hat;
Or a cherished old love letter,
Or some other lost pet cat.
* * *
I should have seen this coming from a poet whose slim volume also offers such delights as "A Cross Made of Hair," "A Crow Caught in a Trap," "My Old House is Going to Decay," "I Do Not Fear to Die," and "It is First-Rate to Be a Yankee." There's actually a couple more kitty-themed jewels in here, but I'm going to save those for another day's treat.