Run your hands through my fur,
and wonder at the softness there;
That is how the air parts for me
and caresses my sleek flank.
Touch these franked ears,
feel the raised ellipses of ink;
I hear only the fast tattoo
of my accelerating paws.
The taste of the air intoxicates,
I fill my lungs and am spurred on.
Look to find my quarry
with your weak eyes;
You cannot see as far as me
and I am chasing freedom.
My mummie wrote this for me.
Appalachian Trail Name: Atticus
2 days ago