Feral (Poetry)

Small hobo with your saucer eyes
that stare, unblinking, through the fence,
your thin-ribbed hunger crouched, intense
as any need - no coat's disguise

could camouflage your skin and bone.
What tasty snack would tempt you from
that thorny cover, lure you on
to try the benefits of home?

I'm offering a bed that's warm,
a bowl that's always full, your own
fireside place but free to roam
as instinct calls you, so what harm

can come from sampling just a bite
of chicken? Here, poor puss, it's free
and you've nothing to fear from me -
far worse the cold and hostile night.

Uncertain still, the trial begins
then, belly down, you inch beneath
the fence - the crackle of a leaf
startles you but hunger wins -

I watch you sink those eager jaws
in tender meat, sense the relief
and, cautious now, a frail belief
in kindness as you wash your paws.

It might take months, perhaps a year,
and truly tame you'll never be,
but you've a patient friend in me
and you will learn you're welcome here.