If I were a...

If I were a...

I am the brook flowing under the pecans,
Singing my plik-plok song in the rain.

I am the calico cat curled contentedly
on the red-checkered table cloth
while potato soup simmers on the stove.

I am the violin whose voice evokes--
Sometimes ghosts of sadness, death and regret,
Sometimes barefoot summer days,
Sometimes shrieking, howling alley cat fights.

I am eighteen different shades of blue.