Mourn not for the
Dangling toy that swings
By its thread upon high no more.
It fell in the day
And was found in the night
As it came to its rest on the floor.
Cut by the teeth
Of a savage brood,
The string was chewed and then gnawed.
Batted and knocked,
The toy then fell,
As surely as if it had been sawed.
Its resurgence
Assured, it rises again,
Though no further than cats can throw.
Terrestrial toy,
A thing to be chased,
It will be pursued, we know.
Second life or maybe
A third, as many
As cats so legend’ry deploy.
Dangling no more,
They play with it still,
A source of infinite joy.


THAT was absolutely THE best ever done! Hooray and Huzzah! You captured the moment in time and the happenstance PERFECTLY! That was worth saving and I will.
ReplyDeleteYou're a poet - who knew??
ReplyDeleteI prefer the term 'doggerel artist'...
Deleteguyz 😸🐾 if dad ever getz tie urd oh ritin spiez storeez, him could pozt sum poemz…984 pawz UP ‼️‼️🐾💚😸
ReplyDeleteOde to a Dangling Toy! 👏 👏 👏
ReplyDeleteGreat! And we just know they had a ball tearing it down and will use it on the floor.
ReplyDeleteA lovely elegy! 😸 I wonder who delivered the death blow? One of the Tempos?
ReplyDeleteThat was wonderful! Your ballad is 'purrfect'!
ReplyDelete👏👏👏
ReplyDeleteResurrected, or repurposed.
ReplyDeleteTerrific poetry, John!
Applause, applause! Nicely done. Dangly toys can be a danger, now it's just a toy and I hope they enjoy it for a long time to come.
ReplyDelete