I sing the mouse resplendent in the field,
The mouse who glories in the autumn grain,
The mouse who drinks a cup of last night's rain
And knows the afternoon will surely yield
Good food the whiskered tribe long to sustain.
An autumn sunset glimmers in his coat,
The silky fur reflects the golden note,
And somehow in the dark the lights remain.
Joy brings a lilting song into his throat,
The mouse has brought along his violin,
And tucking it securely 'neath his chin,
He dashes out a reel his mother wrote.
© Kevin Berland, 1999
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