From where do you come

This winter’s evening?

And why are you here

Wandering across my bathroom floor?

There is no food here

On my second floor,

Only bare tiles,

Not even books to inspire you,

Or make you bold.

But there you are

Only asking to be crushed, dismembered,

Beneath the ruthlessness of my step.

But I stop.

For a moment I stop.

I hesitate,

Observe the delicacy of your meanderings.

Is it so cold outside?

Is there nothing out there for you to eat?

Or do you search

As some of us humans do

For that pot of gold, that something

So rare

It can only be of another world

Far, far, from what we know, or dare?