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I have a handsome feline friend
And Simba is his name.
He comes to visit every day,
and loves to play a game.
He sits upon my window sill,
his splendid tail unfurled,
his ears are pricked, his eyes alert
to watch the outside world.
If human beings come into view
he really doesn’t care,
but when birds fly or squirrels dart
he’s suddenly aware
and active, pacing to and fro
to track each bird in flight,
or watch the squirrels climb our tree
until they’re out of sight.
But birds which fly or squirrels cute
may play and have no fear
of Simba, for he’s locked indoors
and cannot hunt them here.
For Simba is in lock-down too,
immune-deficient friend.
For him the chase is just a dream
and lock-down has no end.
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