This poem reminds me of Silverclaw's midlife.
"What is your name?"
The old tom gasped
"It does not matter,
It's something I don't have."
"But surely you do."
The tom insisted.
"Maybe at one point..."
I considered it.
"Well, try to remember,
For it is important.
Life is long,
but a name is forever."
Around that time
I did remember
a time when I was small
and wasn't feral.
When I still lived with Mother
and Father as well.
And their old housefolk.
My siblings too.
When I was growing up,
I had a name.
But now those memories
are marked in pain.
But I did recall
that thing they called me
My name from old
was Glory.
"I remember it now."
I told the old tom
but before I could say
He shut my mouth
"Yes, it's important,
But not like you
It does not matter
what your called
or how old you are
the only thing that counts
is your heart deep inside."
I was about to speak
but the tom was not done
He continued on
loud and strong.
His voice rang out
in the crisp, cold air
as he shouted it out
for all to here.
"Your name does not matter,
for that is not who you are.
who you are
depends on your actions.
And you have shown yourself true.
From now on
the name of our friend
shall be passed on forever.
For now by the lake
you are known for generations
as the shadow made of silver,
Silent and Forever."
R&R