Ziggy
Out into the garden,
With all its golden glows,
This is where, when dreaming,
My little Ziggy goes.
He chases tiny mices,
They’re all within his leap,
He catches little birdies,
Who on the branches sleep.
He runs around the grasses,
He bolts around the yard,
He jumps upon the chipmunk,
Who wasn’t on his guard.
He listens for the squirrels,
With all their chirps and peeps
Yes, this is what my Ziggy hears,
When he has his sleeps.
With all its golden glows,
This is where, when dreaming,
My little Ziggy goes.
He chases tiny mices,
They’re all within his leap,
He catches little birdies,
Who on the branches sleep.
He runs around the grasses,
He bolts around the yard,
He jumps upon the chipmunk,
Who wasn’t on his guard.
He listens for the squirrels,
With all their chirps and peeps
Yes, this is what my Ziggy hears,
When he has his sleeps.
Lucky Ziggy! Just in the door from walking our poor cat around the yard on a harness. Too many coyotes for true freedom.
ReplyDeleteYeah, that's what we do too. And better to write about their dreams of hunting than to have to pry the chipmunk from their jaws.
DeleteIs this Ziggy's waking life too? Or only the life Ziggy dreams of? It's interesting the topics we are using for poetry. I've written one using a similar theme to Nancy's post and one about dreams. Looking forward to this month's submissions.
ReplyDeleteMostly in his dreams but, amazingly, even on a harness he's managed to catch two chipmunks, a mole and two mice.
Delete