Golden ginger Persian cat (Terzanelle)
You walk right up to me
with your striped tail in the air,
a hunter to the nth degree
with golden ginger hair,
you become a machine with claws and slim curves,
with your striped tail in the air
at the ready with nerves
at a razor’s edge,
you become a machine with claws and slim curves,
suddenly with electricity, sneaking up to the hedge
staring intently, ready to strike
at a razor’s edge,
waiting patiently like a shrike
with poise
staring intently, ready to strike
loosing interest and without any noise
you walk right up to me
with poise,
a hunter to the nth degree.
poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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