An Ode to Mitchell

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How mysterious can my cat be?
With her white soft fur and her gentle purr that has much more to say then I can ever comprehend.
With her claws that hold on to the things like I never can.
Or her ears that could listen to what I’ve never said,
Expressing much more than the books I’ve ever read.
Oh, I’m nothing, but an element of existence for her, and she knows it very well.
What she thinks of me, I can assume but never tell.

When she looks into my eyes for a moment brief, she seems to know the very depths of my soul.
She is royal and elegant in her ways; there is no hiding, no, not at all.
Oh, not enough words to thank providence for providing me a companion like her,
A companion with eyes that seem to watch the spirits; and I long observe her, and not stir.

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The Green Plain at the Door to Eternity

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A little far from existence, and a few steps behind the unknown lies a green plain.
It stretches for miles, behind the hills, and across the river, popular for the demons it had slain.

It remains solitary, reaping its own affection, though disregarding nobody;
For the delightful lad, the lady, and much to the pleasure of the man in yellow coat who came to study.

It would be hidden well behind the clouds, pleasuring itself from its seclusion, never complaining.
It would be seen by many, in mutual agreements, but discovered only by the bird who would stretch its wing.

Vivid as it is, abstracting everything around;
For those who were noticing, it would resonate every sound.

Here Angels are seen, now and then.
In different forms, some bleeding from the pen.

Those who called it a home till eternity,
For them it bloomed joy in the green plain, away from the city.

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