, , , , , , , , ,

She sat right there
Hiding behind the table
With tousled hair
Sniffling and pitiable

Open bloody palm
She looked at her cat
That lay dead and calm
On a fine Persian mat

Twas her only family
Now slain by a slug
She sighed wearily
There was no one to hug

She was trembling
I hoped she’d hear me
She didn’t reply
And why ever would she?

How was she to know
That I was not the devil
Ready with a blow
And raring to kill?

How was she to sense
That I too ached and pined
And wished for defence
Just like her tortured mind?