I’m not the timorous tiny beastie
Who runs away and hides,
But a plastic shelled, hard-working mouse
Who’s sitting by man’s side.
I do not need your bread and cheese
To keep me fit and well
Or, as other mice, search round to find
A home in which to dwell.
I’ve often heard it plainly said
That dog is man’s best friend,
But surely this cannot be true.
I get the time he spends.
A man and mouse so truly bound
Is beyond all comprehension,
For his cat or dog would feel quite proud
To get so much attention.
Copyright on all my poems