It was on that beautiful day that you died,
singing your song over
‘til I came to see why you beckoned.
And found you,
as food being eaten
by my beautiful cat.
So far eaten I did not believe it could be you singing.
But there you were, eaten alive, singing full and loud
your one melody, repeating. Was it
a song to say the way you lived?
A song of warning; or one of leaving?
Or was it simply a song
for the cat, as she ate her meal?
She well fed, the eating of you unneeded,
but to scratch the itching of her nature –
I left you there, the both of you, praying it would end soon,
Though beautiful were your notes my ears welcomed,
and beautiful was the aching, my heart broken.
And returned to planting, pots and soil,
while listening to your song;
you singing for want of nothing else left to do.
on that beautiful day.