The Mouse

The Mouse

07/04/18

What meanest thou oh little rat that scurries near the trees

fleeing that which be thy thoughts that I be near to thee

For thou dost run and scamper there saving thee from fate

that I would cage and mortify that which I doth hate

For wires chewed and and vittles marred in hunger's want to meet

and boxes quid the gnarling teeth the passion of thy feet

For effort gained and scampered lack that which be thy quest

Nor day nor night nor afternoon will give thy body rest

For slith'ring food dost thou avoid that deprivation need

lest thou be found beneath the lips of he devouring thee

So hasting to thy hidden place well beneath the leaves

the blanket of the forest trees that well nigh cover thee

So rest thy fate to other prey that love thee for their food

and walk along will I go past and leave thee to thy doom