Merlin the Magical Cat
His eyes of gold;
peer into my soul
with a milk mustache
he licks his fancy,
torn between two worlds
reality is magical,
says him so
needing to be free,
yet longing for a hand;
to scratch his silky locks
strike while you can
his finicky soul;
dances in the wind
dreaming of playing again
his sorcery is made of stone,
annoyed by your attention
yet never wanting to truly be alone
his meow is a roaring fire;
piercing through the thickest of skulls
biscuits he serves by the claw,
treasuring every chance he gets to fall;
Quit to land on all fours,
he sprints so fast;
you could say he's climbing up doors.
Copyright © Candice Yates | Year Posted 2022
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