The Ox and the Cat

The Ox was forged from stone and sky,

With steady hooves and head held high.

He bore the world upon his back,

And never once stepped off the track.

The Cat was born of dusk and breeze,

She slipped through shadows, danced with trees.

She spoke in silence, moved with grace,

A whisper none could dare replace.

The Ox said, “You are light and free,

While I am bound to land and plea.

You drift through life with no regret—

What truth can such a path beget?”

The Cat replied, her eyes aglow,

“There’s more to life than what we know.

You hold the weight that shapes the land,

But I bring dreams with a gentle hand.”

“You build,” she said, “and shape and strive—

You keep the ancient will alive.

Yet I remind the world to rest,

To find the stillness in its chest.”

They sat beneath a silver tree,

The strong, the wild—both meant to be.

No greater, lesser, wrong, or right—

Just earth and air beneath the night.

So when you choose your path to take,

Be not ashamed of what you make.

Whether you walk, or whether you wait—

Each soul arrives, though each by fate.

For Ox and Cat, so far, so near,

Both hold a truth we need to hear.

One lifts the load, one lifts the heart—

But both are whole, and both are art.

Two different beings in this realm

Two different beings in this realm, an Ox who pulls, a Cat who helms.