Her frail head houses her squinted marbles,
Curled in for heat,
Backbone visible, sturdy to the last,
The pain invisible, yet she’s longing for the past.
Reverted to the beginning,
Her shallow breath,
Harder to hear,
Harder to see.
Staring at the floor,
She intakes one more gulp of air,
Every hair now rests,
No share of life anymore,
The shiny marbles of sight, lost forever behind the lids of that Funny Little Ginger Cat.
