clip-art photo
Poetry challenge: Christmas poem.
This
holiday
that jolly tree
will know my demise.
(The view sucks anyway)
It’s mine, that spot you prefer
nearest the fire…!! There’s my fir.
My claws could scrape your bumps.
A belly rub I never get. I’ve had nuff.
Gird – warmth, love expressed in Dec…?
This idea clogs my fir and curdles my milk.
Now you’ll need to brush and stroke it out.
You are yet to offer the catnip that I expect.
A tin of tuna is fine too. O-wise my nails may
define upholstery or carpet cos they’re sharp.
Now to tip my paws in yew tea or coffee. Just
any beverage whilst please. Wads of fluff I’ll
donate to yaw-all for Christmas. As I line the
litter box by the pound. Need a pen to write
this list down? I’ll take my milk n cookies
by the fire.
And you’re
welcome,
as always.
