The kitten of black and white,
was such a sweet delight,
her cry was somber,
but her look eccentric,
she is pure,
unlike humans,
all just of thoughts unknown,
like the moon she rose,
pondering the cat moved,
never unlike a shroom,
to a place much better soon,
no blues or cares,
for she went up the stairs,
to play once, to play some more,
to a kitten life wasn't a bore,
why are humans so sore?
the mouse and bird flee when they see she,
more of a flower,
of a tune said well,
an idea to dispell,
so fluffy can walk,
can a cat talk?
if so, a sight to see,
or maybe,
we've all gone crazy?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem