Julia McCormack
Poetry is like a cat,
Bounding from one line to the next,
Sometimes it’s fluffy, filled with description,
Others it scratches at your heart,
Trying to make sure you get the message,
Like some cats it lies around all day,
Going on in English no one understands,
Some poems are constantly read as if hunting for readers like mice,
All cats need an owner just as the owner needs them,
I suppose that’s why there will always be poets creating new kittens,
Now I must apologize for I fear I have made a lazy hairless cat,
So, go and discover a fluffier one and give it a rub for me.
