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Little Drama


A bonny night.  I step outside and gaze,

Head back in autumn dark, up into space,

Where stars between the clouds burn with quiet praise,

And think for whatever reason of your face.


Fine thoughts below those glittering Pleiades.

Regrets.  Goodbyes.  The largeness of the night

Summons easy nostalgia for futilities,

Free from the searching glare of window light.


But what's this, suddenly, about my feet,

Rubbing my ankles?  It's the old, fat black tom

Unusually affectionate, startling from

Revery, ragged-eared, with his small thunder.

Is it mere food, or love he wants, I wonder?

His presence somehow makes the night complete.


Gerry Cambridge



Gerry Cambridge.  From The Shell House,

Scottish Cultural Press; reprinted by permission
of the author.

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