Pangur Ba
| Anon |
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Redaction by Corrie Bergeron
I and Pangur my white cat, Each do what we’re handy at: He lies in wait for things that creep. I prowl the page for knowledge deep. Better than the praise of all, My shelf of books and little stall, No envy has my Pangur pale: He has his own task to assail. We sit - oh hours sublime - At home and pass the time. We practice and increase our skill Moving slowly towards each kill. Often do his talons bold Seize a mouse within their net. I perceive with insight clear, Arcane meaning I unfold. He sets his eye, a fire burning On the wall all sharp and fierce. While the page I try to pierce With eyes now dull with years and yearning. He delights in sudden strike Mouse impaled upon his spikes. I puzzle out a mystery Happy when I clearly see. So we pass the years and days And cause our partner no malaise. Skillful, each in his own art, Each rejoicing in his heart. He is a master of his trade Each day is his skill displayed. Ancient myst’ries to uncoil I sit at my daily toil. © Corrie Bergeron, May 2011 |
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