It seems a crime, from time to time, to empty into rhyme
That is to say, from day to day, I haven't thoughts to pay.
I feel sick, from tick to tick, that life on Earth is quick
And so I fear, from year to year, my voice no one will hear.



Once was a mouse, within a house, with owners who took care
Inside a cage, he lived and aged and had a life quite fair.
He liked to drum, to ponder some, to draw & things like that
His life was grand, was sometimes bland, but never bad or flat.

One simple day, like any day, the old mouse passed away.
The house atwitter, no less fitter, they mourned the smallish critter.

The mouse was fun, but now was done, the others turned the page
As nature does, he only was a dead mouse in a cage.



Like our friend, content and penned, I fear that I might end
I cannot sleep if I'm a sheep, or living just to reap.
My only prayer, I pray I'll care enough to change the air
That this green Earth has somehow birthed a prodigy of worth.