Tristan Robert Lange

To Sophie

My cat —
There she sat
On my chest
Like a lap —
She took a nap —
A regular rap.
Her purring
A good vibration —
That’s a negation
Of my anxiety —
Her special propriety
Over my heart —
From the start
Black fur, her part,
A total work of art
That envied the gods
And put her at odds,
Yet still she trods
Where all others plod:
Over my heart —
No longer a part
Of my daily start —
The pain is sharp
Like wires on a harp —
There’s a tear in the tarp
Of my heart.
I will forever
Miss her.
My midnight wisdom.
To my princess Sophia,
To Sophie,
I miss you.