I wonder what you’re thinking of, my darling little cat.
It may be meat, it may be cream, that makes you nice and fat;
It may be all the fun you have in barn-loft warm and dry;
It may be mice you try to catch as by their hole you lie.
Perhaps you think of trees to climb, with birds that sing up there,
They always get away from you, although you creep with care.
Perhaps you think of warm, green grass, and basking in the sun,
Or of your ball, that slides so fast as after it you run.
I hope you think of me, sometimes, because I love you well;
I hope you love me back again, although you cannot tell;
And how I know you’re thinking (it’s a secret that I’ve found),
Is ’cause I hear, close to my ear, your thought-wheels going round.
THE SMALL GRAY MOUSE
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
