Death of a Kitten
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I recall the day that I brought h e r home,
six weeks old and a ball of spotted fur;
all around the house that day she did roam,
at times- she ran so fast she was a blur.
Then, she would c r a w l upon my knee to purr,
oh, such a murmuring tranquility;
that little s o u l was all fragility.
One day, I came home to find her dead,
oh, I will miss that sweet l o v i n g personality;
buried now- under roses red.
___________________________
August 29, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/Death of a Kitten
Copyright Protected, ID 16-1134-305-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2019
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