She is passing in a warm breeze
   bars of light that cross the floor
   one smoke-gray, curled, tiny feather
   skips aside
  
   By her middle hang the keys
   made to open any door
   even the one that lets in the cold wind
   from outside
  
   She lives in a house of colour
   guarded by cats three in number
   and one great dog of gentle manner
   in among the trees