Paw, my cat/kitten,
Black as the Ides of March
With one white mitten,
Has a green ribbon
Tied around his neck,
As we stand on the dock
And welcome the arrival of Sister Darling,
Of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)
On this Saint Patrick’s Day,
She steps off the fishing boat,
And unceremoniously hands me
A hefty cauldron,
As she scoops up Paw
And holds him close, the way
(I trust)
She will eventually hold me.
“Irish stew,” says she.
But I didn’t even have to guess,
For I can recite, by smell,
The ingredients.
Lamb on the bone
Carrots/celery
onions/leeks/garlic
Bay leaf/sea salt/black pepper
Lots of potatoes
And two (I hope) pints of ale.
“You are right,” she says
As Paw snuggles into her hair,
“And you will get
A Reward.”
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2026/ A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
kafkaestblog 