Sarah


 * A Snow Leopard**

I live where I touch the sky, Yet I have no wings.

My snowy covering is speckled with rocks, That never fall off.

My roar shall never be heard, Solitude is the life I live.

My paws are suited entirely for snow, Unlike grass that my cousins know.

My house is cold, A freezer really. Safe and sound, it's home to me, And hardly does man disturb me.


 * Friends Forever**

Cashew, blind and deaf. Libby, eyes and ears. Meeting at a barn as 7-year old and kitten, Lifelong friendship.

Inseparable, Sleeping, walking, eating, Nuzzle the shoulder, Steering and pushing, Never out of sight. Cashew dead, Libby looking for her, Realizes, No desire for woods or kennel, Watching over Lucy and Gracie, Warming to Besse, But not forgetting Cashew.

Friends Forever Allie B. Kagamaster Cat Fancy March 2010


 * Kitten Tail**

Little kitten, curled to sleep, Your eyes starting to close, Thinking a nice nap is coming. But wait! Your tail has started to twitch! Eyes snap open, ears prick upward Tense minutes follow then... POUNCE! Claws come out and grip the twitching object. But wait! That's your tail!

I curl to sleep, the sun is very warm, A nice nap is coming, I can feel it. Eyes half closed I see something twitching, What could it be? The object still twitches, unaware I watch. I wait then...POUNCE! OUCH! Why does that hurt? Oh! It's my tail!


 * Where Will I Go?**

Tell me, Where will I go, When I can no longer walk this ground? Where will I go, When I die?

I like to be alone most times, Lost in my thoughts, The best place is a forest when it's raining. Is that so wrong?

There are times When yes, I crave for a voice, But more often than not, Those voices sound of anger, Causing me to hide again.

The only time, I feel at ease around vioces Is here at school, For most aren't directed at me, And the few that are, Welcome me.

So tell me, Where will I go, When my clock stops ticking? Where will I go, When the lights go out?


 * I Am...**

The one who can interrupt the symbols on the the page, That become music when put with an instrument, The one who listens and cringes at off-key sounds, Yet makes mistakes of my own. I am...The only serious girl player of trumpet, With a taste of metal in my mouth, I make the notes come free, Gently letting them go, Or bursting your eardrums at sudden noise.

Each symbol, Each word, Means a different thing, Becomes a different sound, The combination becomes a song.

The song itself, Is a work of art, The quality, Depending on the players.

Yellows buttons and yellos M'Ms, Yellow onions all spicy, Crushed asphalt painted yellow, Yellow tulips and lemons, A lightbulb, A lighthouse beacon on a stormy night, Pacman with his mouth closed, A freshly opened tub of butter, Sparks of a fire, Some of the stars in the sky, Caution lights, a yellow ballon, Popcorn kernels, Yellow cat eyes, A was of knotted yellow string, Squashed movie popcorn on the floor, The rising sun on an early Saturday moring, June 13, 2009, 6:33 A.M., right outside W.M.S.
 * A Yellow Dot**