There was a mouse
who lived at the end of the road
in a house by a stream.
Eating ice cream
as children walked by,
they caught sight of the mouse
with the blink of an eye.
They said “Will you play with us,
little grey mouse?”
Going downstream with the rain went the house.
The storms lashed around,
then a simple blue sky
appeared, with a rainbow way up high.
The mouse scuttled forward.
He answered quite chipper.
“Where are your ice creams?”
he squeaked with a quiver.
The child by his side,
lank blond William explained,
“They were washed away by the wind and the rain.”
Then Robert piped in with a voice like a bark.
“What are you doing, mouse? Where is your house?”
“Oh, it’s down the road in this park by the stream.”
But the house had gone with the flood as if like a dream.
Rebuilt bricks and mortar, the children came home.
Their parents returned with them after being stranded alone.
The grey mouse by the stream, they nicknamed him Mike
and then with a flourish, Rob and Will took their bikes.
Growing older, maturing, the boys became men,
yet Mike looked younger, he shrank in a heap.
Then one day he went to sleep.
They carried him in a basket, in the park by the stream
Left him to rest and sleep heavenly