Teresa
Teresa is my aunt’s black cat;
She plays with this, she plays with that—
A tassel green, a string to tug,
A fleck of light upon the rug
Give her imagination fire.
And then she sleeps all in a ball
Beside the hearth out in the hall.
She loves to warm herself this way,
And dreams, this time, about her play—
While cuddled up she purrs and purrs.
When tea time comes, she’s always there,
Beside my aunt’s old walnut chair;
Her big green eyes are bright with glee,
Her chin sinks in a creamy sea,
And her ecstasy is complete.
Mary Brackett, ’26.