The cat seems to think
black as India ink
that the bed is hers
where she lolls and purrs.
But I say no
it’s my desk, and so
I invite her off
she snores her scoff.
Reasoning with cats
will drive you bats
it’s the fruitless worry
of the sound and the furry.
Home’s where you make it
be it ever so terran
a burrow’s a castle
if it’s yours for spring lairin’.
Cool muddy counterpane
perfect day bed
were it not for the neighbors
who stomp overhead.
Autumn tulip
chambered cup
goblin’s basket
for picnic sup.
Woven cradle
comfy bed
seeds will sleep
snow-blanketed.
