The Encounter

A Feline Silhouette

They faced each other, taut and still; Arched hickory, neck and spine; Heads down, tails straight, with hair of quill,
The fence-the battleline.

The slits within their eyes describe The nature of their feud;
Each came to represent a tribe
Which never was subdued.

One minute just before they fought, Before their blood called- "Time", One told the other what he thought
In words I cannot rhyme.

They hit each other in mid-air
In one terrific bound,
And even yet, as I'm aware,
They have not struck the ground.

E.J. Pratt
Many Moods (Macmillan 1932, p. 34)