Death of the Stray Cat
It moved slowly, squatting on its hind legs
eyes glimmering with agonizing pain,
the last of its nine lives already spent.
The cold spat its anger in convulsive rage
like crystal bullets and the hail
unloaded its wrath, pelting its rib cage.
Its last meow sounded like a newborn child.
White smoke spumed from the chimneys,
in shapes forming ghastly ghosts,
vanishing into the frosty freezing lights.
It searched desperately for shelter shaking
the gelid water from its icy paws.
It eyed a high wall knowing that led to a house.
Beyond it would have found the warmth
but its climbing agility was now in the distant past.
Darkness came closer. It was sensing death
squeezing its heart, lurking with the drizzling rain.
After the storm, its body lay stiff in a watery grave,
the early morning light came with no sound or stir
the milk in the rusty bowl remained untouched.