Rites Of Spring

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The decapitated mouse head
He left beneath your chair
Signalled the arrival of spring.
Each night he slips out
Into the balmy red air
Catching the scent of the day
In his skin.
We lay on top of sheets,
Expectant and listening
To the sound of new born lambs
Mewing distant in the night.
While the cat,
At the last of his nine lives,
Is loose in the neighbourhood,
Eager with experience,
Tail up, swinging back to us,
With death in his mouth.

◄ My mother used to believe she'd run people over...

Bad Faith ►


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clarissa mckone

Mon 31st Jan 2011 00:24

Hi Tom, You draw very well, and the poem is very nice,

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Tom Harding

Sat 29th Jan 2011 12:56

Thanks for all the kind comments.

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Ray Miller

Fri 28th Jan 2011 09:45

Lovely. Last two lines are very nice.

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Dave Bradley

Thu 27th Jan 2011 23:45

Hadn't planned to log in but had to, to say how good this one is.

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Chris Dawson

Thu 27th Jan 2011 23:33

Really liked this.

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Elaine Booth

Thu 27th Jan 2011 19:15

A very enjoyable read - thanks.

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Ann Foxglove

Wed 26th Jan 2011 23:08

Absolutely great Tom! Lovely drawing too. I love the cat!(In the poem as well as the picture)xx

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