James’s Note: This is a poem I wrote for Sharon, my lovely wife, who is indeed the bravest person I know. The style is a little Shel Silverstein, which is one of the many dissonant styles you can expect to enjoy here.
I think that you might be a tiger.
I think, but I really don't know.
Your fur isn't orange as the sunset,
or striped and white as the snow.
Your teeth are not sharpened like sabers.
Your claws can not scale a tall tree.
Your tail doesn't lash like bullwhip.
In darkness your eyes can not see.
You never have hunted the arctic.
In tree tops you never have laid,
but I think that you might be a tiger,
because tigers are never afraid.