She waits in her ebony grace, ever so silently
For her patience weighs half a life of tragedy,
But she doesn’t care, she keeps her gleam
On the blackest of days, on the brightest of dreams.
Her soul fathoms a maternal sadness
Of her greatest loss of her only offspring.
Yet she lives on, life is but a novel for her;
She decides her styles, her stories and her sufferings.
Her outward beauty is all but insanity,
Her soft fur and her silence a vanity,
She is a black cat in its darkest, an overfamiliarity
But she has a strength so beautiful, it surprises humanity.
Because she is black but beautiful,
Loveable but her life, painful,
And she awaits condemning her identity,
For her life is dark but graceful, sided with tranquillity.