Out in my little entry way,
A painted wooden cat,
Sits resting on a painted chair,
She sits so still, and that
is why I wonder often
what she does when we're not home.
Does she race through the house
chasing painted, wooden mice?
I wonder how far she roams.
This nonsensical little poem is linked to Alphabe-Thursday's Letter "C". To visit other links just click here.