And On The Thirteenth Day…

The snow had sloughed off from the roof
To pile up beneath her window
Season’s Greetings, and all the rest—
[Even Poet knows not how this’ll all go]

Lost in thought, she looked up,
The new book had washed of distraction,
But seeing the snow inviting her so—
Tobogganing looked like the next attraction

With hooded coat, and all scarfed up,
Melissa dragged out her new sled.
Trudging over to Dead Man’s Hill
She intended to be a blaze of red

From top’o the hill, she surveyed the scene:
She readied for a sure mighty shove;
When grasping her ear, a plaintive cry
Came from the pine tree branching above

Melissa scanned, and looked and looked,
But couldn’t locate the sad wee voice.
So, grabbing a branch, up she went.
[Later, she’d claim she’d no choice!]

Up two and then four and at last ten,
Melissa topped the old pine tree.
There, clinging to a branch, and shivering so much,
Was such a sight our young girl did see

Embracing the trembling bundle,
She slowly made her way down;
Down too steep Dead Man’s Hill
And all the cold way back to town

In her house: “MOM! Come see!”
The child’s sharp clarion call so rang.
Run came Mother, and also Dad
With her two sisters, the rest’o the inside gang

There, in the hamper of knitting yarn:
Shaking between bolts of tan and blue;
A wee calico kitten, slick from snow
Looked up as if to inquire: ‘what’d I do?’

Getting a towel from hallway closet,
Mom burnished the furry ball ‘til dry.
Dad held Melissa and the other two girls
And, of course, they all began to cry

But Mother was sharp, and off she went
With the little furball to the breakfast nook—
And opened up a can of evaporated milk;
Presenting the saucer was all it took

“I guess we can keep her,” Dad opined,
And those sobs turned into peals of joy.
Twas the day after Christmas, so you’ll know,
That the kitten was the bestest ever “toy”

What to name her, was the last task,
To end this story they’d forever so tell.
Well, the choice was obvious, I rather thought:
I’d like you to meet our new cat, NOEL.

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on December 4, 2014, in Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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