The old water cat

There’s life in the old water cat yet,
dew laden in the morning
and the milky dog
lies in a shaft of sunlight
waiting for the dust to settle.


In front of the begonia window,
on ancient leather and horsehair
we sink and dream of an age of steam,
hellos in the street,
simplicity and the freshly turned earth,
before the mist sets in.


Where is the old water cat now,
dew laden in the morning
and still and the milky dog
lies in a shaft of sunlight
waiting for the dust to settle.