Nibble, SQUEAK: A Mousey Muse
A mouse lived in my room at night.
Why at night, I’ll never know.
Perhaps the quiet soothed his soul
Or bright lights made his movement slow.
He liked to play inside my drawer.
He giggled while I tried to sleep.
The next day when the light came back,
I pulled the drawer and took a peep.
Oh, my.
Poems that I wrote and kept
Were now piled up in mousey beds.
Yes, my little fuzzy friend
Had torn my poems all to shreds.
Slightly hurt, I made a plan,
And in my drawer I left a note.
“Did you read them? What’d you think?”
And in reply, my Mousey wrote:
Nibble,
SQUEAK!
Nibble,
SQUEAK!
Your rhymes aren’t bad,
They taste quite sweet!
Thanks for the bite,
Sleep well tonight!
Nibble,
Nibble,
SQUEAK!
We didn’t speak much after that.
In fact, I heard him less and less.
Then I began to miss my Mouse,
And in my heart I felt distress.
I write now of his furry tale,
And how I hope we meet again.
If he comes back, he can make use
Of this humble poet’s p—Nibble,
SQUEAK!
Nibble,
SQUEAK!
You wrote of me?
How very neat!
I will give you some advice.
(I hope that you take tips from mice.)
If your rhymes want extra sweets,
Then add some Frosting and some Keats!
Good luck to you,
And now, adieu!
Nibble,
Nibble,
SQUEAK!