No creatures are as fine as cats,
asleep perfectly on armchairs,
in the wake of more curtain tears.
The gifts they bring: toads, sparrows, rats!
And how they know the shingled roof,
the long arms of an ancient elm,
with lives that never overwhelm.
Perhaps that's why they're so aloof.
Immortalized by Rilke, Blake,
companion to old cranks and spinsters,
to janitors and prime ministers,
they're there to greet you when you wake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love your style of poetry, you've an old soul!