James Donovan Poems

We'll begin with box; the plural is boxes;
But the plural of ox is oxen, not oxes,
One fowl is a goose, and two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose is never called meese.
...

A cat is a special gift from God
just a simple ball of fur
who will let you know he's happy
when he thanks you with his purr
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I've often wondered to myself
what causes cats to stray;
are they fleeing from a cruel life
and trying to run away?
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Thank you, God, for harvest-time,
For milk, for meat, for fish,
Thank you, God, for all the food,
I find upon my dish.
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A loved one dies, a wake is held, and friends all euologize
They try to tell you death can be a blessing in disguise
They say it's probably for the best, that this is their belief
They offer you their sympathy, to try and ease your grief
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Oh, what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth, and food
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'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse
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I had two little kittens
I named them Pat and Mike
And as they grew I soon found out
How much they were alike
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I hope I'm not asking too much, Lord,
All I want is a home of my own,
And to know when my next meal is coming
Instead of the scraps I get thrown.
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Two little kittens, one stormy night,
Began to quarrel, and then to fight;
One had a mouse, the other had none,
And that's the way the quarrel begun.
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