Auckland, Musings, Poetry

She Who Must Be Obeyed

A random moment involving one cat, a red door and my morning walk. Which evolved into a poem from a wannabe poet.

On the porch

Comfy and dry

The cat yawns.

Not a purr

Uttered at all.

A fixed stare

With green eyes.

From the steps

No creaking sound.

The cat waits.

She’ll be back.

29 thoughts on “She Who Must Be Obeyed”

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