This is an ode to a mouse that I discovered in my garden. Poor wee creature. Robert Burns provided the inspiration – I merely played with the form and words of his poem.
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,
Thou cannae swim – nae crawl nor breastie.
Thou shoudnae ha climbed intae ma pail sae hasty
Wi oot a paddle.
I wad be laith tae flood an drown thee
Wi murdering puddle.
I doubt na, whyles, thou may ha thieved;
What then? Poor beastie, thou that lived!
A seedling frae my glass-housie tray
Was but a sma’ request;
An’ when the summer comes this way
I’ll get a garden wi’ the rest.
In my housie, too, thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! Trap sheared your tail of a’its stibble
That wee bit heap o’ wires an’ felt
Cost thee monie a weary nibble!
An’ me an electrician’s bill, for a’ thy trouble
An’ bleak my mind turned murdering-bold
An’ my heart ran full carnreuch cauld.
But the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ before more traps I could deploy
Thou thought tae swim. An’ drowned.