Caret-eyed and throned in gold –
the drawling pool of midday sun –
every housecat 'comes a sphinx
'tween the hours of 2:00 and 1:00.
A vigil guarding carpets of sand
from brigands and their bushy tails,
yawning Moses' rotting tow
and kneading sickle nails,
this slowly drooping bastion
is the fiend it must forestall,
the creeping sleep of feed and heat
ensuring its purr-flourished fall.