It all began when she did
With eyes wide and skeptic-like
As young as anyone who'd been there before
And knew the game.
"It's just a phase," they said,
Until it turned into two, and three,
And she's lost count now
So she counts things unrelated to keep on track.
One time she bought the farm,
Twice she traded it in.
Three decades she spent finding herself
And four times she loved.
Five days ago she was better
And on the sixth she was not.
Seven o'clock is when she gives up
Trying to sleep eight hours
And borrows one of nine lives from the
Tenth cat she's had.
She hopes for a reverse Cinderella at twelve
But the thirteenth hour,
Her lucky one,
Never comes.
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