Friends
Small cats, one black, one black and white,
just bits of fur and bone,
strays arriving separately,
refugees from winter's storms,
lie atop the hay, near the old barn's roof,
giving all they have,
companionship and their bodies' warmth.
Black Sheep and Poirot I come to call them
as winter fades to spring
and spring to summer heat,
until the fall and winter come again,
and still they stay,
their sex and age but mysteries to me,
wild ones these,
accepting food, but only when I walk away.
They are the only friends they need,
Mustachioed Poirot and shadowy Black Sheep.
If you would like to send a comment to Judy/Wishes, please send it here and we'll forward it for you.