To the Essence of the Wild
Cat of the wild
Wild cat, Tiger cat, Bob cat, all, to be yours, as an unflattering name,
It is quite unbecoming, in your notoriety, and your well earned fame.
Those Browns, with hues of red, the grays, of your white spotted fur,
The claws of your feet and sharpest of teeth, our latent fears to stir.
That distant time, back in the woods, when we both met face to face,
around the bend, of a dry creek bed, and to be your hiding place.
My gun quickly shouldered and so I fired, to be more in my defense,
The shot, missing, above your head, our meeting, to be so intense.
Do you remember, that past December, you followed me home, one day,
The small furry kitten, with your gentle mews, I was surely then so smitten.
A mother was gravely missing her cub, with your little tail, much of a stub,
I took you in, and gave you some grub, then let you go, as I was bitten.
That one Autumn day, under red maple trees, as I saw you exit the creek,
Your fur, all matted and a comical face, did not speak as well, of your grace.
The day you leaped high above my head, your reaction, in how you were bred.
You always made it perfectly clear, you wanted freedom, a wide open space.
Bob cat, you have the purest of spirit, the essence of all that's to be wild,
You walk the wooded paths, by the moon, at night, by day, you rest in shade.
My envy, and fondest of all regards, you are revered, and admired, so much,
Our admiration, to show our highest esteem, in you, such a marvel, so made.
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