Through all the world the purest pair of shoes
Are white, pristine as is our Lady Moon,
They’re soft and secret as a spun cocoon,
And sacred as the sandals of the Muse.
Through all the midnight hours they amuse
Themselves in dance, more graceful than a tune,
Each one as scrumptious as a macaroon,
Through glimm’ring halls and shimm’ring forest dews.
Above them, luminous, twin sapphire jewels
Dart by as swiftly with each blissful pounce,
While fireflies blink by on nimble wings,
And mice, and voles, and shrews, those scamp’ring fools,
All skitter by, a-tremble, to each ounce…….
He raises his white whiskers high, and sings.
Sorry, this was all I could do. It’s Puss. N. Bootsky, and his soft white boots, playing in the moonlight. He’s blue Siamese-snowshoe.
See also Sneaker Socks and Portrait of a Cat: Pussinsky Nedzelnitsky Bootsky. All three are about my little Baby Bootskies.
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