At five years old Lucky grew wise
If rumours were steadfast and true
But it’s not just the east, where whispers deceive
Your senses and alter your views

At birth he was given, a name that was bound
To catch him off-guard and reveal
To believe every word, is just as absurd
As a cat growing wings like a bird

Each morning at eight, lucky would wait
For the pigeon he’d come to resent
At the top of the tree, he’d perch to escape
So, he planned a cunning accent

Eight times he tried, but each time he climbed
He fell and was injured but healed
But lucky was wise, so he didn’t devise
Another attempt, or he’d reach his demise

This was more than a game, like a moth to a flame
He didn’t succeed but he tried
While he napped in the sun, with a saucer of milk
He was snatched by a fox and he died

A credulous cat, a crafty old fox
And a pigeon who lives to this day
Don’t push your luck, there’s a price to be paid
And there’s more to a cat than his name