The Clockwork Mouse

Bits of this have been popping into my head for a few days. I finally pushed them altogether.

The Clockwork Mouse
In a box in the ground, buried very, very deep,
Lies a clockwork mouse in the farthest depths of sleep,
He moves not a muscle, not a whisker or a toe,
And his clockwork key, has wound down long ago.
On a cold wet day, in the graveyard long forgotten,
There’s a man with a spade, found a box that was rotten,
Brought it home for his wife when he found the little mouse,
But she threw it outside and wouldn’t have it in the house.
One day a little boy was kicking stones along the street,
All he had in the world were the shoes upon his feet,
Came across that mouse lying, legs up in the gutter,
Picked it up, brushed it off, and his heart felt a flutter.
‘You’re my mouse,’ he said, and the mouse seemed to agree,
His nose began to twitch, although no one turned the key,
His toes moved a little, and then his clockwork eyes,
Looked up then, and the boy laughed his surprise.
He could hear a tiny whirring, like the turning of small wheels,
The mouse ran up his arm and down his body to his heels,
And they walked the street together, just like equals to the end,
The clockwork mouse who ran on love, the boy who was his friend.
So the boy felt lucky to be chosen from them all,
By the greatest of companions, and he never called him small.

This entry was posted by mariepeach on Tuesday, January 31st, 2012 at 9:50 pm and is filed under poems . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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