Absent Love

Oh, how I miss loving
and being loved,
tender touches,
murmurs in the night,
cried the Poet,
pinning a wooden heart
to her chest.

I long
for the soft spring breezes
to carrot again
my slender branches
whispered the Willow,
shivering in the cold winter wind.

I’ll never know
encounters in the wild,
said the White Cat.
Good food and a soft lap
are my comfort now.