Poem: Miss. Stray Cat

Streetlamps cast a glow

On this night-time show,

A cat roams the streets

Saying meow to every cat she meets

Going through the motions of defeats.

For tonight food is not to be found,

The food that would make her sleep sound.


She struggles on,

Pity that butcher’s is gone.

Scraps were usually present there

And she hadn’t in the world a care.

Tonight her paws feel rough

But she has to be tough.


Survival is her middle name,

Making it happen is her game.

She must keep looking for the prize

In the middle of her tired sighs.

A new skip looms from afar

Like a shining bright star.

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