by Nick Farrington / Nick Farrington Copyright 2007

Just six months old, yet you seem so big
As I place you into the ground.
It cannot be true, you should be sat
With your contented cat smile on the windowsill.

This pain won’t fade until my memory does.
How you rubbed around my legs at feeding time,
Chased your ping-pong ball round the floor.
You’d grab my hand with you little paw, wanting more fuss, more!

Oh Little Socks, you’ll never see a summer;
Never chase a swallow into the sky.


Nick Farrington