My Cat, Dee Dee
Her ears point forward to a sound she hears.
A sound beyond a pitch to my ears.
Her legs now crouch to attend the fears
Of the twitching nose that scours the airs.
She runs like a bullet shot from a gun.
I'm following behind on the run.
She corners and traps her small bale,
While I stoop and lift it by the tail.
Don't worry. I set it free.
Copyright © Hilda Greenhough | Year Posted 2023
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