Saturday, December 5, 2015


                             Our Tiggy is a cuddle pup
                             Who always asks for a lift up
                             To sit beside me in my chair
                             So while I’m writing, she’ll be there
                             Perhaps to serve me as a muse
                             As then I listen for those clues
                             Of what to write, from the Sublime,
                             Suggesting to me my next rhyme,
                             Or simply so we’ll both be warm
                             As still my versing I perform—
                             But now she’s leapt down from my chair
                             With my verse hovering in mid-air . . .