mouseThe mousie ate my tortilla chips,
But left a little cheese.
He also gave some pesky fleas,
From his back and from his hips.

I could not thank him nearly ‘nough
For causing me to be fitfully gruff.

My wife, she laughed and clapped with glee,
To find me in an upset state
With little food left on my plate
So small, too small to see.

I then determined upon that mouse,
To rid forever from my house.

I thought in future years I should rejoice
To think of that gray schemer,
And how I became a rodent dreamer,
And lifting loudly in baritone voice,

That I was sole cause of its demise,
Withholding nothing from family’s eyes.

I set half dozen cunning traps,
And woke up startled late one night,
To find caught villain in such a plight.
My wife, she begged, asking, “Perhaps,”

I might release it out the door,
Or at least take to neighboring pet store.

Instead I grabbed my hammer bold,
With hatred in my eye,
Then wife and children began to cry,
Yet I inclined to be so cold,

That though the mousie stood so brave,
I would send it to a smashing grave.

Alas, I relented, let go of wrath
The mousie seemed to understand,
How my resolve was undermanned
When I loosed it on freedom’s path.

It’s a day over which I eternally brood,
For that mousie continued to eat my food.

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