I curl in the sun, yet I may scratch with glee, I chase tails and shadows, nimble as can be. I may be on your screen or in your lap, soft and sly, perhaps taking a nap.

I think that I shall never see, A poem as lovely as a me. Leafy arms in the summer air, A stout home for robins in my hair.

A biological elevator, its passengers water and sugar. Or a category for the maths and sciences.

Bumpy Skin Pleasant noise Yet always frowned upon.

Golden sun that never sets, a lion's mane in grassy beds, its whispers float on gentle gales, granting wishes as it sails.