I battled long to claim the rite of Christendom
To he who still upon my lap dot’h purr,
here baptized he, McLovin, Saint of Steadfast Thrum
I feel my soul calm summon to his fur.
His carroting has softened to the dove
With finest strokes, a feathered cloaking grace
His countenance a silken sleep above
The upturned gentle promise of his face.
And how he holds me steady in this seize,
Where twisting anxious I am flung to spoil-
A gentle paw to soothe me in reprieve
This glimpse of death his rumbling love entoils.
His peace a palliative balm arcane
Small wonderment of purest love’s acclaim.