Louisa May Alcott
A Lament For S. B. Pat Paw
We mourn the loss of our little pet,
And sigh o'er her hapless fate,
For never more by the fire she'll sit,
Nor play by the old green gate.
The little grave where her infant sleeps
Is 'neath the chestnut tree.
But o'er her grave we may not weep,
We know not where it may be.
Her empty bed, her idle ball,
Will never see her more;
No gentle tap, no loving purr
Is heard at the parlor door.
Another cat comes after her mice,
A cat with a dirty face,
But she does not hunt as our darling did,
Nor play with her airy grace.
Her stealthy paws tread the very hall
Where Snowball used to play,
But she only spits at the dogs our pet
So gallantly drove away.
She is useful and mild, and does her best,
But she is not fair to see,
And we cannot give her your place dear,
Nor worship her as we worship thee.
Louisa May Alcott's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Lament For S. B. Pat Paw by Louisa May Alcott )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Emotions Kept Inside, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Yehi Karna Hay to Insan Banata Keyun Hay, Akhtar Jawad
- Golden Dreams, Ruma Chaudhuri
- Wind shall blow, hasmukh amathalal
- Turn to flower, hasmukh amathalal
- PH: Life: Growing Up, La! * - Chapter3 (.., Brian Johnston
- Mind Over Matter, david kush
- Don't do anything in a bigger way than t.., Dr.V.K. Kanniappan
- Let poetry excel, hasmukh amathalal
- Mama's Black Breast, Ozioma Anieto