La cloche de bois

When dawn was lean, I as a cat
Moved on by moonlight flits;
I've learned to settle bits by bits
––Too much fish head, too fat.

That wooden bell that once has rung
Recalls unmindful dawn:
I ran to what I since live on
So fleet when waste was young.

Since bones grew moldy, head and all
Naught but that record slim:
Have gone out on the mossiest limb
For all odd fear to fall.

December 4, 2008