Meadow Sweet Grove © V. Buchanan, 2016 / edited 2019 This is a poem I wrote as an assignment for a writing class I took a few years back. It uses a lot of rhyming and is meant to be in "Shel Silverstein" style. I hope you like it. The Right Stuff The big white cat looked Up from the fence, At the old oak tree Leaving leaves less dense. The white cat said, to the Oak King, "Halloween's here, hear me sing. I can hiss and spit, And flash my eyes, Arch my back against a full moon sky. I be as scary as a black cat be, Now what do you think, You old oak tree?" Not a sound rolled around From that ancient soul, But between its leaves, Stretched a cat of coal. His eyes they glowed Like yellow flames and He bared sharp teeth, With an aim to maim. "Best leave to me," He said with a boast, "And wait this out Behind that post. The children are coming up the path And I've got the stuff to make them dash. If they see you, "puss, puss" they'll say And laugh and carry on their way. Shamed, the white cat, Slunk and hid Behind the post As he was bid. But when those posers came quite near, He thought around the post he'd peer, Just to see the garb that night, Of witches, skeletons and the like. But those kids they screamed! And fled in fright. Trick or treat bags Thrown left and right. For rounding 'round that post they'd seen A BIG WHITE GHOST !! (or so it seemed.) The taunting black cat, Added a caterwaul, Laughed to the white cat, "You're the scariest of us all !!" So that's the story of the two old cats Who learned that night (and it's a fact) That there's more than one way to skin a cat! (if you'll pardon the expression) © Vicki Buchanan, 2014, 2016, 2019
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