Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Cats Creep in on Measurable Meter
Having Coffee with Carl Sandburg
Little cats do not creep as the sleepy fog creeps
But rather in a so-soft measurable meter -
Besides, the fog does not wear little bells
Or an electronic tracker to beep its creep
In the foggy hours of the untimed night
Dear cat pads silently across my face
And mews her gentle let-me-out song
To join the sacred mysteries on misty fields
At dawn I ask her what strange worlds she has spanned -
She sweetly purrs to me, “you wouldn’t understand”
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