Possawat Piankij

Alas! my poor kitten,
who was coldly bitten.
Her soul has been taken,
But never been forgotten.

I once gave her an embrace
In our warm and pretty place.
I gave her a cordial smile
While she was sleeping.

She was in her mind,
Saying in her dream
'This man is so kind
That he is the cream.

What can I do to help him
Get out of his life dim?
He has been so hungry,
Never eating a pastry.'

On looking at my face,
She told me her dream.
My bliss I finally trace,
Giving a dreadful beam.


- One Whistle -