Muca Je Stara Mačka

Muca Je Stara Mačka
            -- Muca is an Old Cat

She sits unconcerned

upon my shirt on the chair,

placidly watching the

movements of the other cat.

Once lean and quick,

experienced in killing mice,

she prowled among shadows,

solitary stalker of the small.

Her frame lies buried beneath

the folds of time and easy food,

content to rely upon a friendly hand

for a meal or an unwanted scrap.

Does she remember the days

when she lived to climb high

and swat down at her inferiors

who dared to waggle their fingers?

There was a time of youthful pride

when arrogance of strength

fed confidence that life goes on

the same and every day is one.

When does the heart of flame

grow cold and dim within,

to tolerate the passing of the days

in peace and dull repose?