Kites are the flavourful tracklements for wintry sky’s brrr-grrrs. ; )

Paws devilishly destroy slippers,

Tongue angelically licks burns,

Tail of a saint tags forgiveness,

So bring that soul-cake to your best mate. ; )

Each cacodemon and shadow goon,

Hides from searching of sky’s flashlight moon,

For mischievous intent, set and keen,

Pounces from darkness on Halloween. ; )

When writer’s block—well, writer’s iceberg—needs interstadial inspiration, a toe-tapper’s warmthful frisson may just ignite the sinking of idle input. ; )

This meow-scowl’s affect does not mince,

Toward hands that tricked a water rinse.

Now, claws will ball wet fur and chinse,

Pegged-scratched legs ‘til perp’s repent-wince. ; )