Yeats's Cat

[Dr. J.]

The Dismal Isle of Innisfree
By William Butler Yeats’s Cat

I must arise and hide now, or go to Innisfree,
To the dank hut he built there, of mud and rubbish made:
The only thing you’ll find there is about a billion bees,
And mushed-up beans in a soggy glade.

And you get bit by ticks there, for ticks come dropping down,
Dropping from the leaves of the nettles, to lodge within your fur;
And right next door lives a nasty cur.

I will arise and hide now, for any time I see
The box in which I’m carried positioned by the door,
I know it’s time to vanish, and to the cellar flee:
My Innisfree beneath the floor.