She comes from to time.
Asking me, ‘what is it you hope to find?’
You suit up everyday assuming nothing will get in the way.
Course, I always ask, again, ‘what is it that you say?’
She turns a perfect mane from…
my constant journey.
A woman’s nursery rhyme,
daily quaff of the physique.
When I look into those big green eyes…
picturing her swagger and smirk.
My vain attempts at spirituality.
‘Tis the humans conditioned response to reality.
I know what will go unsaid with her delicate nature.
Her effortless calm.
The lack of drama.
This and much more resists human karma.
Amen to Cat nation.