Samantha sits upon the hearth
And, basking in its glowing warmth,
She polishes the silken fur
That covers every inch of her
From ears to tail and in between
Until it has a lustrous sheen.
She stretches then, without a pause,
And flexes in and out her claws
And looks around the room as though
Deciding where she next will go.
I beckon her to come to me
And she jumps up upon my knee.
I stroke her warm and silky fur
As loudly she begins to purr.
She settles in as if to doze,
Her copper eyes so slowly close
And holding her upon my knee
We both slip into reverie.
For what she gives she asks not much
A dish of food, a loving touch;
There is no other creature that
Brings one contentment like a cat.

by Grace Atkinson

Other poems of GRACE ATKINSON (1)

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