Lenin and the Cats of Revolution

Beneath the frost of Russia’s sky,
Where snowflakes dance and whispers lie,
A man with purpose, stern and keen,
Once walked the streets—Vladimir Lenin.

But in the shadows, soft and low,
A revolution of its own did grow.
Not of workers, nor of states,
But of cats with their own debates.

Their tails would twitch, their eyes would gleam,
As Lenin pondered his grand scheme.
They’d purr in meetings, sleek and sly,
Their Marxist paws raised to the sky.

“Comrade Lenin,” one would say,
“The mice oppress us night and day.
We must unite, we must rebel,
And break free from this bourgeois hell!”

Lenin smiled, his beard aquiver,
“Your cause is just, dear feline giver.
But remember this, as you conspire:
True power lies in collective fire.”

And so the cats, with paws aligned,
A socialist utopia designed.
No cat would starve, no cat would freeze,
All shared the milk, all shared the cheese.

Yet Lenin knew, as cats do too,
That dreams are hard to see them through.
For cats are fickle, cats are free,
And revolutions bend the knee.

So let us toast to Lenin’s might,
And cats who prowl the silent night.
For in their hearts, both bold and true,
A world of fairness once they knew.

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This poem blends historical reflection with a touch of feline fantasy, imagining a world where Lenin’s ideals inspire even the smallest creatures.

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