The Gift of Feathers

She gets it wrong sometimes, my little cat,

although she reads my mind with perfect ease.

Like, once I found a feather at my door;

a friend said my late husband left it there,

a sign of love from Spirit — I was glad

to think he might have left me such a token.

She must have thought that if a single token

so gladdened me, then she, efficient cat,

could find a gift to make me tenfold glad —

and she could manage that with feline ease

as soon as opportunity was there.

Next day I found a whole bird at my door.

Oh, I was ill at ease and far from glad

to find it there, that corpse outside my door!

Yet it betokened all her love ... dear cat.


This mini-sestina form is the brain-child of Australian poet Myron Lysenko, 
though he suspects he is not the first to make such an adaptation.

This poem is submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #141