My Golden Friend

All we really feel.

I glance for her down on the floor,
But she is not there anymore,
My old and lovely golden friend;
And I can’t really comprehend

This business we call life and death:
Not what comes after final breath,
Nor how much of this world is real –
Nor why
Love’s all
We really feel

Mittbee

Our Persian cat.

My parents named her “Vashti”, but
We always called her Mittbee.
I offer no defense, except
That I was eight years old.

She was a shysome Persian, gliding
Silently through hallways –
An early introduction to
The life of one not-bold

A soft nocturnal creature who
Delighted in her freedom;
To stay away from everyone
And eschew all the fuss

A cat I now see as a being
That I can relate to:
The kind of creature that I am,
Who stays
Anonymous

Getting Up There

Fifteen years old now.

She’s getting up there now, in years;
She tracks in bits of ice and snow —
I see her on the carpet there,
And wonder where the years did go

When she was trotting by my side,
On morning walks across the fields;
A golden spirit, sweet and pure,
The life of love
And what
It yields

A Cat Named Motor Court

Nobody knows why.

She owned a cat named Motor Court
Why, nobody could say –
Just one of her, well, oddities
That I miss to this day

I miss the way she looked at things
The words she’d misapply –
She had a cat named Motor Court
And nobody knows why

Passing Love On

We have these things but for a time…

Passed On

We have these things but for a time
And much of it is chance

These fates and opportunities
That can our lives enhance

We didn’t build the chessboard
Whether king or queen or pawn

Since all we have is borrowed
Love should always be passed on