The Harvest Mouse Poem

A harvest mouse way up high, in a field of golden rye.

Distantly, he heard a noise, and swiftly moved with graceful poise.

The ground did rumble, rattle and quiver as approaching fast it made

him shiver.

Then came this giant with teeth of steel, it would not stop it puffed

and squealed.

Lashing wildly and spewing grains, the poppies bowed their heads

in vain.

Gyrating relentlessly all day through, it devoured the crops till

night ensued.

With peace restored that russet mouse, once more came to find

his house.

But sad to say could not be found, just an expanse of barren

ground.