A Somber Lullaby

When Sonny and Lion couldn’t decide who got my lap, they decided to compromise and share…ย ๐Ÿ˜…

Life is a like ballad
Every melody has a story
The endings are at times sad
But that is how it must be

It pulls at the heartstrings
Creating a somber lullaby
All of the melancholy things
Like saying forever goodbye

I remember the notes, his singing
Every tone touched the heart
And with his story completing
He slowly pulled mine apart



I was browsing my old poems and stumbled upon this one that I wrote in 2015 for a gorgeous yellow tabby cat that I named Sonny. He died that year from either feline leukemia or some sort of feline aids, the vet wasn’t sure and said it wasn’t worth it to do the testing to find out because it wouldn’t make any difference. Anyway, we had many beautiful years together, and it was heartbreaking when it came to an end.

Sonny, sleeping in his “playing dead” position, which was his favorite

And later that year, another, a wonderful yellow long hair I called Lion ended up with the same thing and within a couple of months, was gone as well.

Lion, on my coat

My heart is feeling the same way now for Rabbit and Radar that it did for Sonny and Lion back then, so I thought, why not share this old poem for all of the beloved pets that have departed?

Thank you all for the prayers! โค I’m slowly trying to catch up on your wonderful posts and the lovely comments you’ve left me. ๐Ÿ™‚ Hope that you are having a great week so far!


34 thoughts on “A Somber Lullaby

  1. That was a lovely poem โค Thank you for sharing it. I can only imagine what you must be going through, so please donโ€™t worry about catching up on blogging until youโ€™re ready to. Weโ€™re all here for you! โค *hugs*

    Liked by 3 people

      • IN my poetry class yesterday, we read Kim Addonizio’s poems. I read aloud this one:
        Title: In Dreams
        After eighteen years thereโ€™s no real grief left
        for the man who was my father.
        I hardly think of him anymore, and those dreams I used to have,

        in which heโ€™d be standing in a room of people
        I didnโ€™t knowโ€”maybe his new friends,
        if the dead have friendshipsโ€” those dreams no longer trouble my sleep.

        Heโ€™s not in the crooked houses I wander through
        or in the field by the highway where Iโ€™m running, chasing down some important piece of paper,

        desperate to reach it as itโ€™s lifted in the wake of trucks or flattened and marked by passing cars,
        as itโ€™s lifted again to swirl over

        a broken wood fence. I donโ€™t know why the paperโ€™s so important, or if anything is even written there. I donโ€™t know where the dead go,

        or why itโ€™s good to forget them, not to see them if they come crowding the windows or trying to lay themselves down
        and press along our bodies at night

        and ask that we love them again, that our sorrows include them once more. This morning I couldnโ€™t get up. I slept late, I dreamed of the single

        sheet of paper, which I never managed to reach as it stuttered and soared over the grass and a few flowers, so that I woke with a sense of loss, wondering who

        or what I had to mourn besides my father, whom I no longer mourn,
        father buried in the earth beneath grass, beneath flowers I trample as I run.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Beloved – Bulb Fields – What's (in) the picture?

  3. One of the cats I lived with for only a month also died from one of these ailments. That was hard enough. I can only imagine how devastating it would be to lose two — and have no control over either. My condolences to you.

    The last stanza of your poem is perfect — and conveys your love and grief so well. Beloved indeed!

    I am glad you know The Comforter. Bless you!

    Liked by 1 person

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