In Another Life

She claims it as her own
even though it belongs to everyone
and no one.
But she makes it look as though
she has always owned it.
Her eyes are bright
as she rolls and resplends,
like a queen
when her reign is assured.
She could call painters
to paint masterpieces of her temper;
carvers to render statues
beatifying her countenance;
composers to create music
to accompany her delight;
poets to dedicate pages
to her fluid movements.

Instead, she is happy to be
a pretty ginger cat
lying in a patch of sun.