Ode to Rupert

Your pitter-pattering incessantly in circles

reminds me of the tick-tocking of a clock.

Ruby feathers growing like weeds,

I tie back in a bow with my sock.

Confidently you strut,

you walk the tight rope like a pro.

Your needs need not go unattended here,

my duty is to provide the water for you to grow.

Though you may not be the hero type,

you still balance the edge of oblivion.

Struggling with countless indecision,

you drag yourself forward toward obsidian.

I must warn you to take heed,

before you trip and damage your chubby cheeks.

I fear if you doubt my words you may be

dragged under by the nonchalant upkeep of your feet.

When left alone for a mere moment,

you bellow shamelessly for my attention.

This inadvertence which is so undesirable to you,

is an annoyance of my own invention.

As you cry out demanding some amendment,

colour deepening from unvanquished fervor.

I say hush now and sit yourself quietly,

I’ll pick you up as your humble server.

I’m counting down between your pitters,

and getting a headache from your patters.

I’ve treated you like a king on a throne,

although for little it matters.

I am helpless against your ways,

your ferocity and adoring abundance.

Still there must soon be a moment of respite,

from those moments you make yourself an encumbrance.

I await patiently and impatiently,

while you obliviously wear me down.

Your energy is boundless,

and because of it I fear I might drown.

When at last your eyelids droop

I can hardly contain my splendor.

For now that your fire is extinguished,

we can cuddle peacefully beneath evening’s surrender.