She starts and stares
into high ceiling shadows,
alarmed by what? A sound?
Slight movement, breeze wafting
past the open door?
but poor human eyes see nothing
beyond smudged spectacles.
So I stroke her flowing fur
And reassured, she shuts sentient eyes,
trusting feline sense, and purrs.
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Comments about this poem (A Moment by Steven Federle )
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