A ginger tom basking on a sun-kissed front lawn
slowly raises an eyelid – issues a yawn,
then stretches luxuriously arching his spine,
raising his tail in a pose purely feline.
A desultory lick at his marmalade chest
then he settles again for a well-deserved rest.
The house is deserted, it's people have flown,
the sun stole them all, and the cat is alone -
but for the canary; who opens his throat
to tune up by singing a perfect first note,
and then he performs such an exquisite trill –
that wild birds fall silent to honour his skill.
No breeze stirs the leaves of the delicate willow;
A small cloud drifts by like an eiderdown pillow.
The cat on the lawn is now dreamlessly sleeping,
the canary is dozing and wild birds are cheeping.
The grandfather clock in the house now holds sway,
and solemnly ticks off the remains of the day.