I just watched my little furball curl up in the soft glow of the setting sun and felt a sudden urge to write a poem about how light turns whiskers gold.

Soft amber spills across the floor, and in that gentle glow, your whiskers gleam, like tiny stars tucked into a blanket of fur. I watch you curl, the world hushed around us, and my heart hums a quiet lullaby, just for the fleeting gold that touches your whiskers.