Katherine Wisner McCluskey

WHEN I am warmly bathed,

And rubbed a rosy-red,

Cold-creamed to sleek and sweet,

Brushed, braided, gone to bed;

With soft sheets, cool,

And soft warm wool,

Gentle and kind like fur,

I wish that I could purr!

It seems a gracious thing to do—

Expressive, exquisite “Thank you”—

Thrilling the body through and through!

As one grows old,

And understands much folly,

Especially the joke of being wise;

And all things are revealed

In humorous melancholy,

To seeing and discerning eyes:

There is desire to flap the wings

And toot

A cynical and mocking, bleak

“Hoot! Hoot!”

III

I wish that I could murmur in my throat

With a rich, gurgling, deep-contented note,

Like the pigeon-coo!

That yodling, colorful tune,

Of burnished tone, warmer than words can say,

Might tell the way

I feel when loved by you!