Seen the cat at play on the carpet
Tapped your feet to intricate intimate music
Soft songs talk, of the time when cotton falls
The tree goes on and on into the backdrop
No more to see but trunk and bough and
Branch and snow; the poet talks of Nelson
Or was it Napoleon, on snow covered seas
Brighter light enters the garden, the audience
Applauds, I hear my own voice; outside there
Is no horizon, twigs divide the canvas, chimneys
Smoke signals merge; unread, they too disappear
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