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Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Bridget's Spring



She came to us
A rescue,
Not the smartest one
I'd ever seen,
But pretty,
And she knew it,
Well adapted to the couch,
To eating kitty bonbons,
All the day,
She knew how
To get her way,
While sounding like
An outboard motor,
Draped upon your shoulder.
Though not smart enough
To use a kitty door,
She knew enough to ask,
And once out upon the wilds
Of Syria,
She headed for a little spring
That filled our well,
A few quick kitty steps
Would land her on a stone,
Smack in the middle,
Where she'd admire her self,
Gazing at her twin,
Reflected in the water,
She knew a good looking cat
When she saw one,
Truly beauteous!
No finer looker
Was there ever!
You could tell
What she was thinking,
Eventually,
She'd tire if this,
And retire to the porch,
To laze about,
As if a lioness,
On some distant
Great savanna,
Surveying her realm.
Then one day,
She couldn't breathe,
She sat there,
Huffing,
Puffing,
Barely moving,
No more purring,
She limped down
To her spring,
For one last look,
But could not make it back,
And so I picked her up,
And brought her back,
But time was short,
We had to say good by.
We buried her
Right by her spring,
Behind the swing
She loved to ride,
Beneath the fig leaves that
she loved to eat,
They say such ritual
Is mostly for the living,
And I guess that they
Are right.
Bridget,
We'll remember you,
And this will always be
Your spring.

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