The Princess on the Blanket
Nothing disturbs the princess on the blanket.
Not thunder, not time, not the turning of fate.
She settles in silence where burdens unravel,
Her paws tucked beneath her—she does not debate.
The world may ache; she does not flinch.
She is stillness in fur, calm without speech.
A guardian of breath, of unspoken knowing,
Of things your own body can barely reach.
She blinks once at Reiki, as if to say,
“Yes, I feel it—now leave me to rest.”
She’s tuned to a frequency older than sorrow,
A rhythm that knows when hearts need a nest.
A healer, not hurried. A stone in the stream.
Weight of a soul pressed into a lap.
When grief moves too close, she anchors the moment—
Not with words, but with warmth and a nap.
And though time may one day slip her away,
Her essence is stitched in each thread of the throw.
Nothing disturbs the princess on the blanket—
And when she leaves, that peace will still glow.
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