Tigger at the Window

The gentle days of early June,
When windows bring in garden smells,
Seem to my cat a special boon
Reserved for cats on windowsills.

He sits beside the open screen
And lifts his nose to smell the air;
His whiskers twitching, slit eyes keen,
He thinks each bird and fly quite rare.

I think he knows I'd like to see
What, being human, I cannot;
He often looks around at me
To share some miracle he's got.

He knows as well that life's no garden
(Cats, too, have clocks), and well he knows
June ends, and summer heat will harden;
Then winter comes, and windows close.

But now he'll watch the yard, and I
Watch him and try to see as well
The marvels that, though June will die,
Live now upon my windowsill.

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