The Thinking Sapling

Coiled up in bed with a cat, Lily was writing a song.
She dreamed of loud applause heard once her song was sung—
trying to phrase, trying to rhyme, trying to sing in tune.
Soon, scraps of paper were strewn afar all across the room.

“Done!” she thought, now bouncing past the cat and stairs.
She found her mother with a phone pressed against her ear.
“Mother, hear my new song!” she proudly cheered.
But Mother shushed her, then turned away—
important work, not a time for delay.

Undeterred, Lily searched for dear Father.
He’s free today; Perhaps he’d stay and hear her song.
Instead of Father, she found Brother.
He, too, had written a song.
“We sing together!” he quickly said—
but out of sight, she swiftly fled.

Outside, she heard Father midst his friends,
all boasting loudly about their day—
yells and cheers filling the lane.
“Father!” she called out,
but no reply came.
She squeezed and pushed through the crowd,
but Father she never found.

Tearing now, she went back inside.
She passed Brother, whose smile died,
and Mother, still deep in her call.
Up the stairs and through the halls,
she found the cat still on her bed.
“Leave!” she shouted, and the cat fled.

She closed the door and blamed the world,
which didn’t seem to want her.

Later, after she’s asleep,
the door gently creaked.
The cat had crept into the room—
and curled beside her in sleep.