Sonnet to My Cat

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(Edited)

Feeny appreciates the iambic pentameter of an English sonnet.

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Shall I compare thee to a lump of lint,
Which softly wafts around in slightest breeze?
Thou art too weighty, full of food not spent
In earthly toil, but in a life of ease.

Thy softness doth belie an attitude
More sharp than twenty claws and sharpest fangs
Thy purrs and yowls that sweetest kitten mewed
Give way to wounds and bleeding, painful pangs,

Thy warmth is in the winter welcome bliss
When at my feet you curl contentedly
And on occasion thou bestows a kiss
With tongue so rough and purr of feline glee.

Thou fat and happy moocher dwell in peace
Beneath my roof until our lives shall cease.

by Kimberly Schimmel



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