I Think She Is My Mother
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I was dreaming of a hunting quest,
feral, wild and untamed in a land strange;
then, outside my fluffy fur there was a change,
the bright sun was shining into our nest.
Yawning wide and on the bed my claws- pressed,
I am soft grey and a pet of one;
I like to prowl pretend mice that in the house run.
Oh, on my mother's lips a kiss I have pressed!
Well, I think she is my mother, anyway,
and I see her eyes flutter and she does stir;
MEOW! Is she going to sleep all day ?
So into her right ear I loudly purr,
I am forced to stand on her chest and plea;
Oh! Do get up and make our tea!
Then, she hugs me close to her heart with love,
and she calls me her little turtle dove!
Now, mother is walking towards the kitchen,
I zoom past her sliding on the wood floor;
yes, ready to do my part- to pitch in,
I know mother what dwells behind that door !
That's right, make the tea and in my bowl pour,
yes, in my plate my yummy food place;
and when I am all full we can play chase . . .
so, sorry mother, didn't mean to break that vase!
__________________________
March 12, 2022
Poetry/Personification/I Think She Is My Mother
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1439-290-12
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Brain Strand Formal
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 03/12/2022
First Place
Poem of the Day - March 14, 2022
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2022
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