Saturday, 14 March 2015

Libertarian Cat

My first life was nasty,
I didn’t live long.
My second was brutish,
I did much that was wrong.
My third life was short,
But not sweet, like a song.
My fourth life was better,
I was fed and grew strong.
My fifth life was hasty,
The sixth was quite Pooterish,
As I grew self-important,
Eating all that was tasty,
And came to ‘belong’
To some well-meaning people,
Who still couldn’t prolong
My existence, and so,
I was squashed by a moped,
Or something else scooterish.
My seventh passed by in a blur in Hong Kong,
Where the people themselves were not really free,
And seemed rather jealous of pussies like me,
My eighth was no blessing, as I lived among
People who had their ideas all wrong.
But the ninth is a wonder,
The best of all worlds,
I have shelter, protection and food and small birds,
And yet I can roam, far away from my home,
Pleasing myself like a Dong,
Without a luminous nose.
And although I suppose
That this life is the last,
I have learned a great deal from the ones that have passed.

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