Cats Poem by Francis Scarfe


Rating: 3.1

Those who love cats which do not even purr
Or which are thin and tired and very old,
Bend down to them in the street and stroke their fur
And rub their ears, and smooth their breast, and hold
Them carefully, and gaze into their eyes of gold.

For how can they pass what does not ask for love
But draws it out of those who have too much,
Frustrated souls who cannot use it all, who have
Somewhere too tight and sad within them, such
A tenderness it flows through all they touch.

They are the ones who love without reward,
Those on whom eyes are closed, from whom heads turn,
Who know only too well they can afford
To squander love, since in the breast it burns
With the cold anguish every lover learns.

So they pass on, victims of silent things,
And what they love remains indifferent
And stretches in the sun and yawns, or licks the rings
That sheathe its claws, or sleeps and is content,
Not knowing who she was, or what she meant.

George getze 23 August 2018

Fantastic encapsulation of a sentiment experienced by many abnormally tender and vulnerable people

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Susan Williams 24 November 2015

In this instance, the one who loves still gets a reward for his compassion and warmth- he has expanded the size of his soul and the size of the land held by love

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Francis Scarfe

Francis Scarfe

South Shields, England
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