A kitten heel wearing mouse
tiptoes lightly around the house,
clunking clumsy rhythms on a xylophone floor,
she cannot find the keys,
no, they are not in the door.
Behind the door the dogs sing,
no frogs in their throat they gloat,
beat their nonchalant paws
down and up stairs and legs,
whistle their whine with no regrets.
But this poor little mouse wanders lost,
long past remembering
quite what she forgot,
where it was she put her tune,
looking for cheese in empty shoes.
annashestitcheswords 