What I started out to talk about was today's poem, based, as are most of mine, on the material at hand ... you know, tangible stuff ... things I understand ... at least sorta ...
Now that I think about it, though, it seems that this particular poem kind of tells its own story, so here goes:
THE MOUSE
I slept serenely one blustery night
while a timorous sweet-toothed mouse
stole into my house, chewed a jagged
hole in the right-hand pocket of my
old blue robe and took a foil-wrapped
chocolate by surprise.
Discovering the theft, I, Superior
Creature I, smiled at such waste
when my poor pocket was open
all the time.
But who has dined on prized chocolate?
And who stands here holding crumpled
foil while a finger waggles foolishly
from a hole?
© 1998
(originally published in Capper's)
Today's word: timorous
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