Schrödinger’s cat



Miraculous pity isn’t it so?

Gingerly anticipation!

My gloved hands pulsing, to know…to not know…

Tails lack an end of extermination.

Should chance toss elsewhere- then off with her head!

Nine lives to gain one, Austrian roulette.

And yet these gloved hands fogged over instead,

Open doors engage my marionette…

Meek innocent purrs slice through destined fate,

Outta the bag and she saunters astray~

So even while I’ve been tagged as a great,

My reminiscence screams “May Day! May Day!”

Although crossing world lines with tails to tell-

Well, eight to be technically precise-

Leaves one with wisdom in twined paw to snell…

But leaves me with lunacy to suffice.

“Tea?” Spoke she, “We’re all mad here. We’re all mad~”

And quoth the man in me who sought to play god:

On a night in December he forbad

That not a thought was stirring, not one to prod,

So she could be freed, to live and be merry…

But the world’s not kind, and the world’s not fair

She passed one test and that’s what makes me wary

The luck o’ the draw over common prayer.

May the luck be yours, kitty cat, adieu~

I weep on nights when I am without you.



The cat is either dead or alive, but not dead and alive. Happy that you chose a scientific subject to write a poem about and kept it fun and playful with all the feline references. Speaking in Shakesperian tongue also wins you major points. Have you read some Yeats? I think you'd take to him. 

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