The Tabby of the Abbey
The rooms sit empty, disused as of late.
The worn, wood floors, now, creak without weight.
Halls once sang to the harmony of life;
To the steps of many – socks and sandals, rife.
The halls hum, now, to a different tune;
Soft tunes moving with the motions of the moon.
Still, there are the sounds of feet, near and far;
The feet of mice, little pink things, they are.
Still another step muffles all other.
Soft, padded toes on worn wood, cover
Great distance if needed, wished or wanted.
They are footfalls of a feline, taunted.
Those clever tricksters, also known as mice,
Are smart enough to fool any cat at least twice.
Though cleverness and trickery aren't needed,
Since fun is all that's ever been deeded.
It’s said that “when the cats away, the mice play.”
Well, these mice have never missed a day’s play,
Since their purring friend stays, wholly, at bay
(Dubbing her: The Tabby of the Abbey).
Copyright © Trevor Otis | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment