The moon shone dimpled, dark and bright
With chants of legions old
Amidst the flames of dreams in flight
And stories never told
He stood in shadows hidden glare
His eyes like rippled waves
He played with nary pain nor care
His soul could not be saved
In manners old and customs quaint
With hands that flew in verse
He gathered words not stout or faint,
As was his lifelong curse
He placed upon a parchment old
Tales told in metered rhyme
Of stories warm and terrors cold
And loves left far behind
While he paced he thought of days
Strange places he had been
In came his tigered shorthaired cat
Who stared with a mischievous grin
To his surprise the cat leaped up
On a thin but strong barred sill
And said as though to interrupt
It’s time to take your pill
Categories:
shorthaired, animals,
Form: Rhyme