The Gentle Giant
A poem for Maine Coon cats
From Maine’s long winters, fierce and white,
he comes on broad and silent paws,
a hearthside lion in the night,
with tufted ears and whiskered jaws.
His heavy ruff frames watchful eyes,
his plumed tail sweeps the floor below;
he claims the chair with kingly size,
then leaves great pawprints in the snow.
He greets the day with chirp and trill
and follows close from room to room;
then guards the evening windowsill
and watches moths dance through the gloom.
A giant, yes, in coat and frame,
yet mild in manner, warm and wise;
the northern woods still haunt his name,
the hearthlight settles in his eyes.
