My Missy goes out the door every day,
All alone and lonely here I stay.
She leaves me food water and toys to play,
Even so she’s gone and my days are gray.
Where we live their is no yard with grass,
No fields of hay, or lakes with Bass.
Only buildings with brick and windows of glass.
The days are long and time slow to pass.
I eat and drink and watch out the window,
When it’s time for her here, I seem to know.
My hair stands up, my heart skips a beat,
I jump off the chair and run to her feet .*
It seems that every few days, not sure I know,
Why she doesn’t rush out the door to go.
In the big chair she sits and reads while on
her lap I sit and purr,
Then watching TV together, she runs her
hands through my fur.
But I know, again and again my Missy will leave,
And again I will look out the window and grieve.
So alas she tells me when she’s home it’s a weekend,
And always and always on them I can depend.
Author Eileen Clark