Life makes a mockery

Of all my poetry.

It laughs

At the words which try to express

The feeling that words can never trap.

The wild birds of emotion

Perch tentatively in the souls of men,

Until the cat-like paragraphs

Stalk them and pounce

As the birds, startled, take flight;

And the cats are left

Holding only a few tail feathers,

Somehow only mildly reminiscent

Of the feelings

Which, undaunted, light anew

In our hearts.

The cat slinks sullenly away,

Its energy spent in vain.