A mouse in the house
“There’s a mouse in our house,” said old Farmer Fife.
“Well, a cat will fix that,” said his good lady wife.
But the cat clawed and spat at the dog – how fur flew.
Fife yelled “Out!” What a shout, that house trembled, it’s true.
Next a trap it went snap but Mouse, she ran free.
Then a man in a van tried his luck for a fee.
Mouse hid ‘neath a lid till the danger was past.
Hunger gnawed – soon Fife snored – time Mouse broke her long fast.
Out she crept while they slept and feasted her fill
“It’s a pest not our guest!” Fife vowed, “Catch her I will.”
They tried brooms and loud booms, every potion and powder.
But Mouse she stayed, on she played, and her gnawing grew louder.
‘Twas not food but a brood in her round little tum.
They were born in the morn and the one had become
Nine, no less, and oh yes, Wife and Fife were distraught.
Those lodgers, smart dodgers just wouldn’t be caught.
In a trice those fine mice multiplied to three score
until Fife and his wife could not take any more.
Yes, they fled, out they sped, left their house to the mice
who skittered and tittered and sighed, “This is nice.”
© Teena Raffa-Mulligan