Tache Poem by Alison Smith
Tache
Wicked little eyes
Considered the path of attack
Always keen for a game
She pounces when the time is right
Stalking and biting
She practices her art
Jumping and leaping about
She is still very young
Tache is the imp I mean
A black and white kitten from where ever
She even now tries to distract
Pawing at my pen
Sitting on my chest
The purrs of contentment
Rattle her very fibre
Sleep now my temptress.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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6/10/2026 3:51:11 PM # 1.0.0
Yeah, I love them too... :) Beautiful write, loved it! And sooo agree! Lee