Monday, February 9, 2009

Cat, you tumble down the street
As if it were your bed.
I think such luck is a treat,
Like feeding without being fed.

You're just a pawn in the hands
Of fate, as stones are, and people!
You follow your instinct and glands;
What you feel you feel -- it's simple.

Because you are like that you are happy;
You're all the nothing you see.
I look at myself -- it's not me.
I know myself -- I'm not I.

No comments:

Post a Comment