Hunter Cat - Poem by Maureen Pickford
I could poke you with a big stick
But still you wouldn't wake
You're like a camel who stores sleep
Counting field mice instead of sheep.
One long day and a short summer's
Night; twenty four hours straight.
In the sunshine you stealth stalk then
Darkness cloaks as you lie in wait
We know you take it seriously
But do you have to crunch
Their poor, hapless bones so loudly?
(Hardly behaving politely) .
You cough up mice corpses
With their crunched heads.
They're a strange kind of litter
Amongst the flower beds.
But we love you dearly
Despite your crimes.
You own us both completely
And squint at us sometimes.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Hunter Cat by Maureen Pickford
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You