(no subject)

My cat, he cannot chase the mice,
For I don’t have a cat.
I’ve chased my dreams at twice and thrice
The speed they calmly fled.
But had I been a Silverstein
And lived my seventh life,
I would have done at least one thing
Worthwhile the attic’s light.
I would have lured them, wild and mild,
And striped, and red, and grey,
Into a rhyme for every child
To chase some grief away.