Harold Monro Poems
|1.||Child Of Dawn||1/1/2004|
|2.||Children Of Love||4/21/2010|
|11.||Man Carrying Bale||4/21/2010|
|13.||Milk For The Cat||4/21/2010|
|14.||Overheard On A Salmarsh||4/21/2010|
|18.||The Bird At Dawn||4/21/2010|
|19.||The Nightingale Near The House||4/21/2010|
|20.||The Rebellious Vine||4/21/2010|
|21.||The Silent Pool||4/23/2012|
|23.||Two Poems: (Numbers I And X In 'strange Meetings.')||4/21/2010|
|26.||Youth In Arms||4/21/2010|
Milk For The Cat
When the tea is brought at five o'clock,
And all the neat curtains are drawn with care,
The little black cat with bright green eyes
Is suddenly purring there.
At first she pretends, having nothing to do,
She has come in merely to blink by the grate,
But, though tea may be late or the milk may be
She is never late.
And presently her agate eyes
Take a soft large milky haze,
And her independent casual glance
Becomes a stiff, hard gaze.
Then she stamps her claws or lifts her ears,
Or twists her tail and begins to stir,
Till suddenly ...
You little friend, your nose is ready; you sniff,
Asking for that expected walk,
(Your nostrils full of the happy rabbit-whiff)
And almost talk.
And so the moment becomes a moving force;
Coats glide down from their pegs in the humble dark;
The sticks grow live to the stride of their vagrant course.
You scamper the stairs,