The black cat

On a very white field

On which white snow pours

There is a very white house

With white windows and white doors

And inside the white house

With white ceilings and white floors

There is a very white bed

Whose white sheets, couldn’t be more

And hiding among white clothes

Surrounded by white in force

Wrapped in the whitest dreams

A very black cat snores

But about this black cat

Nobody can be sore

Because though many people

Mostly white things adore

Whenever they see this cat

Diligently doing his chores

They have to conclude that colour

Should never come to the fore