Page 53 - Poetry-Animals

Will sell this tale to me.”
He smiled a smile, did the writer man,
And he said aloud: “By jings
The tales I write and the kind cats wear
Are two very different things.”
O, then I wept as I went away,
I had no heart to purr;
“Give me back,” I cried, “my fluffy black tail,”
Said a man who stood by, “what fur?”
Then a hare I knew spoke up and said:
“If you want a tail just grab it;
Here’s mine, you know, just take it along,
For a tail’s no use to a rabbit.”
I grabbed that tail and stuck it on,
It looked as good as new;
But the cooks did shout: “Here’s a rabbit about,
Let’s put him in the stew.”
O, then I fled to the deep dark woods,
Where I sought to hide my woe;
Till a hunter said, “Cat, I can take you to
A pond where cattails grow.”
But a picnic party had been at work
On the pond with fingers deft;
When we reached the place I mewed with woe,
There wasn’t a cattail left.
With mournful wailing homeward I crept
I shut myself in and again I wept.
The pitiful tale of my tailless state
Did the Crown Prince to the Queen relate.
“Why, dearie me!” said she in glee;
“That’s the very cat I want to see.
I’m fond of pussies without a doubt,
And always like to have them about
But just as sure as I have one around
I find its tail ‘tween my feet and the ground.
And it always gives me an awful start—
I have such a very compassionate heart.”
I listened, then waited to hear no more,
And again I paused at the palace door.
At last I stood before the Queen!

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