If I but had my own roof
O'er my head, and just four
Walls! Bare of ornament,
Sterile and quiet...
That I might never be distracted
From this work I needs
Must do!

For here, in this great house
So many congregate. Myriad
Personalities: dogs, cats,
Children with their many toys...
And oh... those ugly, solid chairs
Sitting about in smug content!
I look at them expectantly and
Almost seem to see them
Smoking cigars, legs crossed.
Like solid citizens; superciliously
Daring me to do anything
Exquisite... ever... in this place!

Truly, would not utter barrenness
Be preferable to this?

And so I think that I must go
To that one blessed spot I know on
This green earth; among my
Fellows... those who search
For freedom to create
A lovely thing. I'd find
A tiny room where I might live alone
To do my work in peace!

But I have lived with myself long
Enough to know that even with my art,
I would not be for long,
Completely, silently alone.

And so, of course, there would
Be color. Fellow artists do paint
Pictures, among which are many
That I truly cherish.
Then, one day, coming in
Through my window I would hear.
The lyric sound of some small
Feathered creature's song.
...A yellow bird I soon would buy;
A sweetly-singing yellow bird
In an airy, clever cage!

But on a wintry evening when the
Wild winds toss their skirts about the
Chimney tops, could ever
A tiny bird sit by my fire? And turn
Upon me glowing amber eyes...
While purring a song of sweet content that
Echoes my own quiet joy?

Oh, no! And so, I'd wander up and down
The village streets, searching
In butcher shops and
Cafe kitchens... for a little cat
Who'd like my fire.
And I can talk to cats... I also like
The way they eat. Like small furry gourmets.
Afterwards, putting dainty paws to their
Pink-tongued equivalents of silver finger-
Bowls. Oh, how we would eat...
My cat and I!

Continued...