Pembroke

 While with pen in hand I fiddle, thinking up some brilliant riddle,

A thought that strikes like baby spittle makes me ponder just a little.

Could a verse be so obtuse, and yet so clear as to induce,

The startled reader to deduce a secret as from Dr. Seuss?

“I know!” said I with evil snicker, “It truly would be quite a kicker,

and maybe somewhat sicker, to speak the secret as a tricker!”

“No,” thought I “That will not do. Maybe I’ll confound the crew

With a clever tale. They’ll stew until the secret’s found in open view!”

Then listen close, and follow now this tale I tell:

Every day the cat would feed her faithful friends 

Some tome, some prose, sometimes a rhyme.

With blazing speed and papers and pens 

She etched out words to transcend time. 

But now she tread on ground untrod

A new production at her stomach gnawed.

She could scarcely conceive a thought so scary,

Yet faced it bravely with ne’er a tarry.

While her friends waited to hear the mystery

Gathered at table, they knew this was history.

But something was missing (it was still in the oven)

And yet they ate, after grace was given.

They looked at the cat, she’d not touched a bite.

This was her feast!  This just wasn’t right!

They said “Hurry and eat, it’s getting late!”

And the cat smiled and said, “No thanks, I just ate.”

Now dear reader,

If my meaning’s not clear

And you’re missing this news of cheer,

See me not as too dismissive,

But try to read my second missive…..

November 2002