Shall I compare thee to a winter’s storm?
Thou art more furry and less punctual.
Sharp claws do scratch the breadth of my young form,
And thy life may yield no prenuptual.
Thou art as divine as Donny Osmond,
And thy snout shinith like carpet clean-ed.
Thy brain sits idle like a lost almond,
as never does it know what hath been meaned.
Will Earth’s ‘membrance of thee be lost to time?
Will thy love of thee die as Earth’s ‘membrance?
Thou needest no life eternal in rhyme,
But receive it and meow with a prance.
So live thy life in blissful ignorance;
Forget that eternity has no chance.
