Mickey Poem by Clyde King
Mickey
The oil furnace
Glows red-orange in the dark.
Mickey sleeps on the floor heat grate.
He's dreaming about catching mice again.
He's running in his sleep unconscious
Of his legs pawing the air.
His low chortles and yawps
Tell me he's caught one to torment.
Mickey is too old to run now.
He has arthritis and cataracts on his eyes.
He's been my buddy for 16 years.
He won't be chasing mice much longer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/18/2024 7:28:25 PM # 1.0.0.1119
