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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The rat tiptoed to the house, picks up a thread While the soft spoken black cat is, still, in bed Sleepy, but, she is to battle it, to win, for today To gain her breath, in solitude, for another day At first, she will fetch water, from a sacred well Passing through the silent field of fears, of hell While the sympathetic morning moon watches And giving her consoles, with uplifting touches Of hopes, to warm her shaken, but noble heart From the cold of early morn, that torn her apart Before the fading moon could bid her goodbye Her tiny feet has swollen red, like a chicken fry The rat sadly waves her bye to the fading moon She kisses gladly the first crow, with her broom To sweep the scattered butts, of Marlboro Light Before favored kitten come, and give her a fight She uses her magic matches to light the sticks Delicately set at the center of a three big bricks Eggs and bacon, with riz Cantonese to prepare The boiling silvery pot, patiently, waits her care While the family feasts, the rat runs to the room To fix the beds’ pleats, and then, she will zoom To clean the ruin of wars, on the two slab tables Before, she finds herself drown, in little bubbles Her paled skin got burned, from the blazing sun While the soft spoken black cat enjoying the fun Of watching, the afternoon entertainments show That the rat never sees, for she has list to follow But, before the day ends, the poor rat was bitten By the soft spoken black cat, left.....right up to ten That made her soul cries, under the mango tree Hides her tears, in the dark, no one will ever see Only when the soft spoken black cat’s gone away Thus, the rat feels happy, for she has time to play In a world, where no creatures exist, but, just her She now lives in illusion, in her own, fake laughter The rat has beaten many times the first cockcrow For the soft spoken black cat, not to live in sorrow Till she left her, nothing, but full of fear and wraths Forever haunt her, even if, she takes dozen baths O God, the rat has a phobia, ‘cos of this black cat Won’t you ever pity seeing her sleeping in a mat? Or when somebody, with shot, scratches her tail? For I cannot stand, seeing how human beings fail
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