You cleaned the box??

OK, so I lost a bet. TW DID remember to clean my litter box. I think she did it on purpose. Now I have to let TW use my blog for her evil purposes. She has decided to—gasp!—share one of her poems from the stone age. (Damn, I thought I hid those things where she'd NEVER find them!) Mariodacat's M had expressed interest on Twitter last year in seeing some of TW's poetry. She will now learn why I hid those poems so well that it took TW an entire year to find them. The Woman was going through her dippy hippy—or is that hippy dippy?—period and needed a miracle to pass high school English. She couldn't parse sentences or conjugate verbs, so she wrote "poetry." (Heh heh! I put quotes around it because it's still my blog.) I give it a D. Without further ado, I give you TW! (You can have her, if you want, but you're gonna have to support her. HAH!)

See, I'm asleep already. Wake me when she's through. Zzzzzzz …

Thanks, CK, I think. I wrote this in the early '70s. (No, CK, that would be the 1970's, not the 1870s). When I re-read it today, it took on new meaning after hearing all the news about the Christmas morning fire in Stamford, CT, that killed 5 people, including three little girls.

A CHILD GROWS

Burning embers fall on the charred grass

But me—i see beauty.

There once stood a house

full of little children

playing, laughing, running

But those children grew up

Why must i—shall i—grow up?

The trees heard the whispering

of the flames already surrendering

to the men in yellow and the flow of their liquid

They once were children too

Laughing, growing, dreaming

But the world—did it make their young dreams come true?

[i'm forever asking questions

whenever the planet's silence is broken

It happens a lot—but maybe not enough

True love may move mountains

but until now, i've tried to not believe it.]

Once a playhouse whose rooms were alive;

a fireplace that went unconquered

For once it warmed—then it grew like

the children who basked in it's glow

It's enthusiasm soon was extinguished.

As i grow, will mine also vanish? the child asks herself.

© by The Woman

Is it over yet? BTW, this was the only time I ever laid in this $100 bed.

You wanna make this a monthly feature? Over your dead body, woman! Ahem! *relaxes arched back and tail returns to normal size*

CK back in da house! Do I have any followers left? Time to wake up! Helllllluuuuuu … (to be continued)