My mother is amazingly talented when it comes to words. She can make a fantastic poem in the time it takes to toast a piece of bread. She write stories, and plays. Really, I think she could write speeches for the president if called upon.
Some of her talent has trickled down to her daughters. I don't claim to be anywhere near her level, but I have written a few good things in my time. My sister has the talent as well. Both of us just don't use it very often. When Miranda came to visit, she brought along a poem that she wrote a long while ago. While I read, I enjoyed it all over again. When I was a kid, I thought it was cool, but as an adult (I can call myself that, right?), I realized how good it was to be written at such a young age.
Because I am not the best as keeping track of pieces of paper, I figured I would document it here, to preserve it longer. Plus, I thought you would enjoy it as well.
When the mouse runs, the cat will pursue.
The heat of the chase is a grand site to view.
Next the cat flees with the dog in pursuit.
In the cat's eyes, the dog's quite a brute.
Now the wolf howls and the dog's blood runs cold.
He knows that the wolf is an enemy bold.
She stares at the wolf in a cage, he's in pain.
Her persistant eyes start to drive him insane.
Now the man comes, his lust to fulfill
but that's where this pattern of hunting stands still.
For she takes his hand and wants him as her spouse.
And when he hears this, he will run with the mouse.