John I. Blair
Young warrior of the street and yard
Returned once more, tired, battle-scarred,
Trusting to find a welcome here;
Come in, come in, let down your guard!
Father to many, brother to none,
You took your stroll, you had your fun;
Through insect-murmurous night so sweet
Faster than sight you made your run.
Now pace the floor demanding food;
Curl up awhile, keep my chair warm;
I am your servant, at your call.
No need to tell adventures rude;
How near to bliss, how near to harm;
Your feathered whiskers say it all.
©1978 John I. Blair
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