Tilly

By Andrew R. Duckworth

She’s a killer,
Looking with those stalking eyes
Over the calm green grass,
Noticing sudden movements.
She’s a killer,
Scoping the birds tending nests
In the short trees,
Waving with the spring breeze.
Centuries ago, she would have been a beast,
Prowling, fixating on prey.
But, instead,
She rests her small head
On my lap at end of day,
Purring the sweetest song
In a gentle dream.