As I settle down in my heavy, cosy quilt this chilly winter night,
I picture Her again,
A unique, rare beauty…. Quaint.
She was a saxophone in a sea of trumpets
She had traveled to our land from the mystic deserts of Egypt,
And had an aura about her that was hard to decrypt.
She was the rhythm of her gait, the giggles of her anklets,
She had the power to charm people, and capture their attention for a while,
And those eyes, oh! Those twinkling gems that can beguile,
Anyone brave enough to meet her gaze,
Would surely be stunned for a few moments, struggling for composure in a daze.
Her perfectly smooth and shiny rare red hair,
That she would tend to several times a day with care,
Was surely a matter of envy,
Such was the beauty of our dear Ivy,
But well it was all the same,
Her arrogant nature was stubborn and sticky like her name.
“Maybe I am not a cat person afterall”, her master said.
And threw out poor Ivy and got a dog instead.