The cat, his fluffy tail
a banner held high,
ignoring all his toys,
does battle with a crinkly
ball of paper.
First, he stalks it, pushes it,
then, with lightning speed,
bats, lifts, and tosses it,
until the crumpled warrior
is conquered.
Through green slits
curtained in darkness,
he stares at me.
Then he leaps on me,
purring and kneading me,
'till I float to the edge
of eternity. My droopy
eyes are a white blur,
my flag of surrender.
I nod, drift, doze,
defeated.
Mary Naylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conquered/
