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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.

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Copyright on all my poems

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