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Gnarled branches cut the sky;
Banksia against blue,
Tossing leaves like confetti
Onto neat streets with houses
That people call home.

Gray cat sidles
Round the corner –
Brick, fur, whiskers.

While placidly, the world-weary wind
Meanders through green gardens
Well-kept, sun swept,
And dilly-dallies down driveways
Gritty and brown.

Upon the sun-speckled lawn,
Cat does cat things -
Cleaning, basking, stretching,
Hunting.

The chirrup of a bird,
Loud and clear;
It hops onto mown grass,
Cold soil, and, underneath, worms.

Smokey pounces.
©2007-2009 ~The-Last-Stanza
:iconthe-last-stanza:

Author's Comments

All comments and favorites to go to the original May Street
by ~lalaland-faerie

:star: :star: Please comment on the original, the author will appreciate it. It will only take a moment of your time, and it will make the poet's day. :star: :star:

Selected by *SpokenAubade
Featured September 3rd to September 9th.

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September 3, 2007
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