Hail, beauteous lady, world renowned, And hail to this, your latest capture With Goldenrod and Roses crowned Who pads at heel with purrs of rapture. Can this sweet cat with fluffy pate In blissful thraldom to your charms Be the same beast that ramps irate Upon Great Britain's arms! 'Tis proud indeed we'll be some day, Who witnessed the incipient stages Of your triumphal march, to say, "We saw her started down the ages!" And by the way, dear, since you're quite Well headed for the Hall of Fame, Don't hold your Lion's leash too tight Lest he forget he's tame. 'Tis true he lets you cut his claws And trim his beard or curl or shave it -- And knit wool mittens for his paws, And bob his mane, or marcel-wave it, But Lions have their limits, take LIFE'S friendly tip upon the quiet And don't attempt, for heaven's sake, To "pussyfoot" his diet! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY: THE HYMN by JOHN MILTON MY PRAYER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU JOHN UNDERHILL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER POETICAL INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR OF INDEPENDENCE by ROBERT BURNS |