If I was a cat with a poetic heartbeat,
I would be uniquely endowed with wings.
When spread, I would glide to window cil
of poet burning midnight oils with verse.

I would lightly touch their consciousness,
to meow of verse or two.
Inspiration would flow grand,
inside moment so true.

Hand of sage could feel the urge,
to write a vision pure.
Writing would not be a task,
but blessing thats for sure.

Poet and cat would feel Yes one,
to end poem in the night.
Bard will echo with their thanks.
and all would be alright.

As a cat I will sleep well,
to fly another day.
Sending praise to all who write,
inside a sacred day.