Poem: Bast.
Bast.
.
.
She sits, Sphinx like,
Up on the bookcase,
Not moving anything at all
Except her beautiful eyes.
I look at her and I feel
I am being visited by an ancient,
Otherworldly and unknown.
Not connected in any way
With that other creature
Who empties out my handbag
Whilst I am asleep.
.
.
