Black
Cat
Upon my bed,
Your little hairs
Tread, on everything.
On my stairs,
They stick
To socks,
And feet,
And clothes - once neat.
My toilet
And sink
Are covered
Because you choose to drink
There.
My floors
All wood,
Hide your dander
And fluff
In each corner.
My option?
Who knows?
Who stays?
Who goes?
You!
No,
My cat,
I love you
And your hair,
Which will always be there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Even better is when you wake up in the morning and pull one from your mouth and wonder how it got THERE. -chuck