Softening the Less

 No child

nor spouse

nor mother

nor father

do I hold in my arms.

So when

I pick you up

and bury my face in your fur

smelling the scent of chimney smoke

from your night air jaunt,

I smile.

A little joy and lots of love

fill up the vacancy in my heart--

softening the less,

giving me more

just because you

nudge your head

against my lips for one more kiss

on the tip of your ear.

You will not always be.

But for now you keep

the cold of lonely away,

at least for one more day.

(. . . regarding ztc)