She'd rather be, albeit shunned, your mistress
Than never tread upon the cold kitchen tiles;
She makes a stilted Bess
Immune to wiles.
Warm milk she craves,
Not knowing deviltry in the udders
Of other babes; she saves
Elsewhere people and ibidem stutters
For a moment of onomatopoetic bliss,
Not wanting to tend
To the hiss
Of soda, nor of tea blend.