(This was written after my girls brought a wounded deer mouse in the house, that died shortly afterward.)
On the Death of a Deer Mouse
Little, frightened, timid mouse,
Your spirit fled while in my house.
Although you were afraid of me,
I’d have gladly set you free.
I hoped that you would thrive, and then
I’d take you to your home again.
But mice are not so very tough;
They’re mostly tail, and a bit of fluff.
And when some creature makes them pain,
Their mousey lives are quick to wane.
And so your eyes have turned to glass;
Your little nose has twitched its last.
But surely He who watches all,
And who takes note of sparrows’ fall
Will take you in His gentle hand
And bring you to a better land
Where dog, nor cat, nor farmer’s scythe
Can take again your little life.