Cute

The tiger cub rests on his own, All scrubbed up, looking cute... His lifestyle you may not condone, When he hunts meat not fruit... Yet doesn't he look stunning there With fur refined like gold? As if he didn't have a care, A sweet sight to behold? Admit it, aren't you somewhat drawn To study him at length? No longer quite so full of scorn When thinking of his strength? He's not the average pussycat That whimpers soft meows... Nor does he seem to be a brat While he lies there to browse... But give him time, for he must grow, In length and height and weight, No more the little so-and-so You either love or hate... Is it so hard to comprehend What Nature makes him do? He'll not look quite as cute, my friend, When he starts chasing you! Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011. The poem is based on the magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford called 'Cute'. More Stephen Gayford poems here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com