This is an ode to the precious, the meek, the bold.
The rare treasures that the wise seek to hold.
They are the gifts of God, and ought to be cherished.
Not cast aside with a disinterested prod.
They are not embellished nor relished, nor should they ought to be.
For if such vices cloud your vision, then you do not truely see,
the worth is far more than company and amusement,
or your pennies and dollars all well spent.

For you cannot wrap in paper the crackled fire and wisdom of a granfather's grin.
Nor the innocence of a cat covered in black, that took part in no witches sin.
These are gifts that welcome you to sit beside them, and listen to the gravel of their tone.
Or eagerly follow you wherever you roam, not for food, but for play, showing their tongue and pressing their head into your hand, or paw your leg gently to beg you to stay.

This is an ode to the Precious, that ask nothing more and nothing less, who's love is unconditional, and time spent with so little, that you truly don't know the value of what you're missing until its gone.

RIP Scrapper, my precious baby, I miss you...