Whispering Embers

In the folds of a tartan shroud, a secret soul resides, A feline sage, with eyes that pierce the night's tides. Gray fur, like mist that clings to morning's breast, Wrapped in the warmth of a plaid blanket's gentle nest. The whiskers tremble, like a poet's quivering hand, As the cat's gaze holds the viewer, in a mystic land. The fabric's texture, a canvas of woven tales, Echoes the softness of the cat's fur, as it prevails. In this still moment, a world of comfort lies, A sanctuary of warmth, where the heart can sigh. The cat's eyes gleam, like golden coins in the night, Reflecting the beauty, of a love that's pure and bright. In this quiet scene, a sense of peace descends, As the cat's presence, our deepest selves attends. The plaid blanket's pattern, a story of its own, A testament to the art, of a love that's forever sown.