I do not see the kitten on the wall, twisting in the leaves of fall,
Maple seed that spins to ground, from high to low without a sound!
It’s still too hot to dream of frigid air, perhaps I’m still too young to dare?
That damned kitten, she’s still unknown; In summer’s heat I dream alone.

Some wicked man with an orange cat, is sure to laugh but not at that;
He knows the pain of softest fur, the poetry of the things that were
before a boy knew true desire, and only loved some kitten’s sire.

Tiger, Tiger, burning Keats? Nay lad there are rhymes far more complete
Let go the little deaths in prayer, away with all the pain of care
I do not see the kitten, dear. I only see the breadth of fear
measured in a broken heart, a love unknown – and still apart.