Classical Poetry

 

(A hendecasyllabic rispetto)

 

Surrounded by darkness, she moves through the night,
Awaiting the arrival of the lost soul;
Silently, easily, cat’s eyes sharp and bright,
She discovers its presence, as black as coal.
She adds it to the collection in her home,
Tying it firmly so it will never roam;
She’ll wait for the lean months, and then she will feed,
Its incorporeal flesh filling her need.