catGood morning darklings.  Sundays may become poem days.  So here’s the new Sunday regular thing.

 

One lone tabby cat black and special in the moon

Sits patiently atop her owner’s tomb

A chain of power around her neck

But she knows it’s not time to use it yet.

Still as a statue, dark as the night

It all depends that the magic is right

But she’s been here before and she’ll be here again

To awaken the body of her best friend

What waits inside knows the mist must gather

To weave and form her back into matter

And her devoted familiar knows the routine

They both seem young but they’re not what they seem

Inside the tomb, a conscious and bone

But soon enough, she’ll be home

Many times over done what some think of sins

The pull the magic and lid opens

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