Predators

Predators

I cannot smell the scent of the cat
who slept on this sweater, but do know
how the garden swells with old
and pungent herb art. In sun the fox

bows to my feline and her good
dog friends who rule this land. I hoe
and cultivate, find my dead aim
in the trust that many tales spun

this tract long before I came.
The dogs do not understand wild nature.
I also was domesticated.
Oh, give me strength to watch their sorry
looks as a bevy of vixen

feed on a much smaller body
not the cat's ... But it could be.



Linda Hogan