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Merlin The Magic Cat

Merlin indeed was a magical cat
With long flowing robes and a pointy blue hat.
He came into town on a Harley one day
With a gleam in his eye and the look of a stray.
His head, shiny bald, but his face full of hair;
A few weeks’ provisions seemed to be lodged there.
He rolled that big hog right into the park
And lit a small fire to hold back the dark.
Then he opened a saddlebag, got his guitar,
Leaned back on that bike, and hummed a few bars.
The old girl had slipped; she wasn’t immune,
So he tweaked a few pegs, and he got her in tune.
With a voice that was old when the world was still young,
He sang to the stars in a strange, wondrous tongue. 
It seemed like the mountains responded in kind,
A rumbling, purring sound, vaguely feline. 
You’d have sworn the ground opened, because just like that,
Old Merlin was surrounded by a chorus of cats.
They joined to the purring and matched pitch somehow,
A deep-throated rumble, not a cry or “meow”. 
Now you’ll think I’m repeating a tale told by wives,
But all of these cats had lost all of their lives.
As he called out their names in a voice clear and strong,
They floated off skyward in the strength of that song.
It seemed time stood still out there under the dome,
But he played, and he played, and he sent each cat home.
When the last one had disappeared out in the stars,
His voice drifted off, he put up his guitar,
Got back on his bike and left just like that;
Merlin indeed was a magical cat.

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for the Merlin the Magic Cat Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
written on 09/25/22

Copyright © Jeff Kyser

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