The Stray Cat
Wild stray soul with streaks of grey,
eager always to make hay.
while the sun is a thousand spears
on tin roofs on evenings clear.
Half asleep but he dozes not,
smirks at all the worldly lot:
who scurry along and are not lazy,
at best engaged and looking busy.
As for the nine lives that he gets,
all the great souls may fret
for how is he glad without toil,
content as time and close to the soil.
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