Maruman: a poem |
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Chapter 1 |
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| The time has come, a girl once said, to talk of vital things, Of hope and love and honesty and pretty fairies' wings, And why a fight will ever rage on Maruman's colourings. He's black and white! No, marmadale! A noble, ginger cat. He's tortoiseshell! He's persian grey! He's white, and that is that. He's tabby, with a hint of brown! He's black, or I'll eat my hat! This cat of cats is calico and thin as candlewick. You moron, can't you see that he's as brick red as a... brick? And others say: 'This fight must stop. This prejudice is sick!' But I say that Maruman is a cat of many hues, Of red and white and lavender and oranges and blues, Of green and purple all mixed up - the colours of a bruise. A rainbow cat of colours bright, where red and purple match. Where puce and yellow swirl about a solid crimson patch. And silver loops around his tum to form a little sash. This is the truth, without a doubt, a solid, proven fact. And all your protests otherwise, a certain something lack. But in the end, it matters not - at night, all cats are black. |
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