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A skinny tomcat sits upon the dock,
With but one eye to gaze upon the sea.
He waits for his fisherman to come,
And dreams of fish that soon he'll catch with glee.
The setting sun doth paint the sky with hues
Of orange, pink, and purple, oh so bright
But all the cat can see is fish, not hues,
His mind is set on dinner, not the light.
He twitches tail, and paws upon the wood,
Imagining the taste of fish so fine.
His fisherman, his friend, he knows he should
Be grateful for, for he'll soon make it mine.
But as the stars come out, and night descends,
He'll wait, and dream, till fish become his ends.