Thursday, 5 February 2009


He lies among the lilies
under the tall leaves
where the earth is cool.

With pale green eyes
he surveys
the dazzle of the noonday,
the passage of a cabbage butterfly,
the dart of a humming bird,
the ravaging bee,
the whirr of sparrow wing.

He lies under the cool leaves
until he hears my step up the path.
Then he may rise, if he chooses, to greet me,
as he may blink in the sudden sun
when I part his cover,
and look away as if to say,
“I have too much to attend to.
Later please, not now.”

Oliver was the writer’s cat

Jane Tyson Clement

“Copyright 2007 by
Plough Publishing House. Used with permission.”