Ode To Cleopatra
Ode To Cleopatra (1998-2011)
><
Cleopatra in hiding
><
Oh Cleo, how we loved your magical, comic ways,
How you lighted up our every, ordinary days,
Those intense, ebony eyes, so wicked, yet so wise,
The more intense and sorrowful, thus made your demise.
><
Long summer days in our garden paradise, did we lie
You seemingly asleep amid the catnip and the rose,
Paul and I, the garden seat nearby, did we occupy;
To chat and muse; you one ear, one eye, unclosed.
><
We knew, ourselves, you listened to all we might say.
Perhaps even chuckled ‘ah, mere mortals are they’.
‘I, Cleopatra number eight, have come from Cleopatras one to seven’,
To guide you around this earthly home and garden heaven’.
><
Many days as in our garden we worked; with snips and spades,
Cleo supervised, scrutinised; like mistress she was, to slaves,
Never once did she, our plants or plans to wreck,
Instead nudged insects off; dropped at our feet to inspect.
><
Tiny swamp frogs, even, carried gently in her mouth,
So we could take them across further south,
To the wetlands, not far from our happy home,
No longer fodder for ravens, the sky they do roam.
><
So fit, so agile, so clever, was our Cleo, believe!
Not we! Not she! To think of herself a mere cat.
There was no doubt in her mind, she decided that!
For she knew her feline looks, animals and humans, deceived.
><
What other mortal enemy, so inclined, to be a friend of birds? Why?
To watch them flit from tree to tree, to enjoy their antics, on the wing,
Upon the ground, digging seeds, their little beaks poking any little thing,
Cleo under wattle hides, the watched, unaware, what lurks nearby.
><
Human, Cleo was for sure, but not in our likeness, oh no,
More temple goddess; and we all and sundry would know,
To beware her magic and her schemes, she used to pull her needs,
From us mere mortals; we meet with guile and with queenly pleas.
><
At night, when comes time to retire, onto our bed, Cleo does leap
Not for her the cat bed so lowly; where humans repose, does she aspire to sleep.
Not little a space, but fully a third, she does examine slowly,
A comfortable spot she pat-a-foots to claim, for the night’s keep.
><
No moggy, in our home, while Cleo, there, reigned supreme.
There can be no mistake, in her life, she was a queen.
The after-life, she now will journey, another body to possess,
But only regal bones she would inhabit; for her, nothing less.
><
We buried her in a tomb so fine, with her trinkets loved the best;
Ping pong balls; such footwork had she upon the tile floor,
Beckham himself, he would envy; a shame there will be no contest.
She must go now to contemplate what life next; far away to Luxor.
><
Our hearts are broken, the way she died; no queen thus deserves,
But Cleo, don’t despair, for we know with us, you are still here.
Not physical, we sadly know, but in spirit, everywhere to preserve,
In garden and in home; we feel your presence everywhere.
><
The ghastly hounds who ripped our Cleo’s life asunder
We have dealt with them, our paradise they plundered.
But no more they will roam on the garden she loved so.
She rests in peace now, in “Cleo’s Garden” amid the catnip and the rose.
© to Anne Frandi-Coory – All Rights Reserved
