A Cat

3 0 00

A Cat

She had a name among the children;

But no one loved though someone owned

Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime

And had her kittens duly drowned.

In Spring, nevertheless, this cat

Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales,

And birds of bright voice and plume and flight,

As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.

I loathed and hated her for this;

One speckle on a thrush’s breast

Was worth a million such; and yet

She lived long, till God gave her rest.