My Canadian Chronicles 11

He laid there on a stool
his eyes watching my every move
as I sat at the table and wrote.
He looked aloof
as he looked at me,
an Egyptian Prince of Royalty.
His fawn coloured coat
not a spindle of fur out of place
and his tail of irregular stripes.
When I moved he moved and waited
for me to stroke him.
As I did, he gave out a short cry
more, more, more.

10 June 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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