Under my chin she sleeps...
and if not for the purring
I could.
She worked on the covers
for a few minutes,
kneaded the comforter
with her paws until it was
suitable.
Then with orange tabby fur
made herself
into a ball.
I stretch-
she stretches-
and until the sun shines through
the blinds
we'll take turns yawning
in contentment.
R.P. Coursey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-my-chin-she-sleeps/
