You don’t see it often,
(And you don’t want to).
The water along the rocks
Is splashing up as ice
On this frigid, frigid day.
Paw, my cat/kitten
Black as the ice
Sometimes can be,
With one white mitten,
Does not cease in his complaints.
I’ve brought him with me
In his cage,
Because,
On his own
He would be blown away.
He doesn’t realize that.
We cower on the shore,
And look out to sea.
We spy a ship
With its sails down
And a white aura
Enveloping her.
A snow squall perhaps,
Or,
Perhaps something else
As you can only see
Out at sea.
And, to appease the cat/kitten,
To calm him down,
(As well as myself)
I sing some Wagner,
Belt it out against the wind.
“That storm it wants a battle
And it’s sure that we’re outgunned!
That ghostly ship is hunting us
It’s bringing on the gale!
She’s called the Flying Dutchman
And it’s rage that fills her sails!”
And – indeed – it does us some good.
And then,
We high tail it
Back to the shelter
Of home.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report
kafkaestblog 
