The cat she sits, a stoic too
Purrs and meows, as fits her mood
The cat she sits, and does not move
As befits a statue, on the mantle piece
Table or window sill
Then with a whirl, she moves place to place
Soon stretching out and lies about
Suddenly starts and startles, remembering something
She has forgot, runs up and down the steps
Chasing her shadow or something more profound
Will dance up and down and all around
Then flops to the ground, and sighs, her secret kept
We in a quandry wonder
What makes her dreams come true
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem