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A skaldic poem about my cats

July 14, 2017

Witch’s-friend, claws clutching
cold flesh. No more golden
balls to fetch or falls for
fair maidens this jade-prince.
Her mirror, still, murmurs;
mouse-bane in dreams, house-tame
she lies. A lap-lion,
loathe to win her dinner.

Edit: I made a change to lines 3 and 4 after Dr Jackson Crawford pointed out I had ‘for’ as a stress syllable in line 4.

Molly

April 18, 2017

You can call me flower if you want

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