Tis I who stand along the allure
of the castle's high music hall
outside the partially draped portale.
I gaze on the Maid of the Rose
in repose reading an ancient tome
with the yellow Tom upon her.
His deep purrs echo her beating heart
as his paws lay in her cleavage
upon the richly red brocaded dress.
Then turns around paws on clad legs
her stroking his yellow striped soft fur
while singing him chants from monks song.
Were it not for the masses of rats
that inhabit this manor's halls
I'd rid myself of this precious cat.
For tis he I would rather be
lounging with she of the emerald eyes
than I standing here peeking on.
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