Reck We His Cat

(With apologies to Matthew Arnold)

Being the Twentieth of the Black Hole Ballads

STREW on it rubbish, rubbish,
But never a tear or two;
It was by far to tubbish
To see this year through.

Its claws its friends admired,
It fought with fiendish glee;
But its frame was tired, tired,
And now we’ll let it be.

Its life was turning, turning,
To Harry’s brutal sound;
And for peace its soul was yearning,
So now let’s wrap it round.

Its fierce and warlike spirit
Led it to lose its breath;
It could not fight the ferret,
So lies her cold in death.

7. 3. 1928