A mousy mouse she was
frail by the standards
of conventional mouse culture

Her parents and peers in crude discourse with heavy sighs
proclaimed their disdain daily

The entire mischief of mice
with their squeaky micely voices
cut into her soul with steely edges

One tiny drip of a mouse tear garnishes her long eyelashes reflecting her inner glow to the one who watches

A wondrous cheesy smell penetrates the maze sitting at a curious angle
just outside the little mouse door

Forever hungry and dangerously
impetuous were the little mice from
the mischief behind the baseboards

The frailest of them all
in her soft lilting voice
called to them all they must halt

No one paid her heed
so she sat and watched in safety
the massive black cat on the prowl