TurncoatA Poem by Chris Shaw(An old poem about an old moggie, long gone)
This fickle creature nudges me
and weaves between my walking feet. It's not for love he acts this way, he prompts me as it's time to eat. Attempts to sit him on my knee so I can stroke his thick black fur have failed. My feline won't respond, he will not sleep or gently purr. Not my black cat, there's none of that. Not all indoors are kept exempt, It's me he keeps his distance from, It's me he serves with such contempt. It does appear his mind is set. My pet is stubborn, I take heed. From him I can't expect a thing, from me, at least he'll get his feeds.
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25 Reviews Added on September 27, 2018 Last Updated on September 27, 2018 AuthorChris ShawBerkshire, United KingdomAboutAlbert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..Writing
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