Comfort Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

The cat has whorled itself on the duvet
Burying its head into its fluffy tail
Losing its nose in a quiet smile
And its body in a rhythmic sleep -
In that sweet-spot antithesis beyond
Fight and flight that constitutes comfort.

Last night you dressed in fantasy
With high heels and a schoolgirl tartan
Skirt and a pretty, white-lace shirt
And a new pair of white knickers -
Inside-out in error as the label disclosed -
And now I fear no evil as it comforts me.

Blessed be the God of all comfort
‘Comfort, Yes comfort My People'
[And cats] says the Lord - that we who have
Patience and comfort might have hope -
That those who mourn shall be comforted -
And that those who comfort will dwell

In goodness and mercy in the House of the Lord forever.