It was so tight, he could not know,
if there was room to get inside.
Might need to have another go,
he didn't want to scrape her hide.
The tip (we Aussies call it hood)
was itching to recuperate
from heat and stress. Inside it would
just stay suspended in a state
of bittersweet and warm surrounds,
enjoying comfort all night long.
He couldn't think of any grounds
to stay outside. That would be wrong.
It was his first time at this cave,
and size DOES matter, he knew that.
If you're too big but bold and brave
you slip right in, Oh Pussycat!
In case you're wondering, my friend,
the pussycat is MY mirage.
This lovely poem, it was penned
right after locking the garage.
Note: It helps if 'garage' is pronounced with a french twist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem