Burlington
He makes the heart’s beat change into a purr
By doing simple things like lapping milk,
And kneading rugs, and wearing knitted fur
That rubs against the leg like hungry silk;
The way he sleeps, contorted like a slur
Of laziness across the cushion’s edge,
The little greedy sound, just like a whirr,
Whenever he comes in from window ledge;
That way he paces heavily demur
Across my face quite cheekily at dawn,
When I think, “Let me sleep!” but he is sure
It’s long past time for food to be laid on.
..Yet most of all he makes himself so dear
. By always licking at his dirty rear.