Burned brightly
The tiger can no longer burn bright
the proud predator yearns to slumber
as the breath is labored and reluctant
catabolic cancer consumes all
evenly
alike
the cat that once dreamt of fire
now waits while the embers are fated to be
as the frost
on the glass
of the smudged
window
that beckons the smoke to stain
the view-bright, so bright to be dull-
The asymmetry of the palsied face
invokes memories
as the tiger pounces
on to a silk pillow’s sheen and
Purrs, and Primps, and Watches
the prey mocking birds
parade on the dying
lawn of autumn.
The tiger is fed
claws retract.
The breath is labored
The slumber is not.