Hickory, dickory, deconstructed dock...
and the maker of the case
had given it rudimentary legs
with a little space between them and the floor
and though the case was of finest polished
hickory-wood, he’d not given much valued time
to the cheap wood of the interior shelf
below the shining weight swinging to and fro
on the pendulum..
you don’t often catch a mouse climbing;
but the philosophy of all scavengers large and small
is ‘you never know…’ – the floor is the first place, but
the table top may hold hidden treasure
on its fertile plain; and though this strange
upright monster of furniture didn’t seem
promising to a twitching whiskered nose,
you never know… Though the gentlemice
are the family’s scavengers in chief, the ladymouse
can be desperate with all those little mouths to feed…
we’ll never know whether it was a scrabble
up the rough side of that hickory-wood case, or
cunning deft paws thrust between the links of chain…
she gained the top shelf, where the strange mechanism
moved as discreetly as a mouse, above the ticking cogwheel…
and then, like some mighty god of fearsome justice and revenge, offended at this presumption…this hubris,
to be punished, as Prometheus, as Icarus –
a whirring of the metal monster
shook the case and mouse; then – a sonic boom,
shattering Minnie’s ears – but more, shattering
her tidy universe, at exactly one-o-clock in Green Witch time…
one tiny, traumatised ladymouse –
the childmice fed and put to bed -
snuggled close to her gentlespouse that night:
‘what’s it all about, Mickey? ’ who
yawning, half-awake: ‘Search me, kid…’
she, laying awake that night, filled with more curiosity
than it needs to kill a cat; filled with unmousely thought
(by which that godly evolution works its mysterious metamorphoses…)
wishing ‘even if I were reborn as
the most timid human being, I’d like to know
what it’s all about…’ and too much cheese
tossed her sleep between harsh nightmare dreams…
* *
… she may work in your office, or the firm’s up there
above the factory floor.. that tiny spinster of uncertain age,
large round eyes behind small round wire-rimmed glasses,
eyes which however seldom meet your gaze…
water-cooler gossip, calling her Miss Mouse,
idly wonders where she goes
and what she does, at end of day…
back, we guess, to an ailing widowed mother who
resents her daughter going out to work,
but knows the money must be earned…
then, mother put to bed, she reads (and yes,
Beatrix Potter’s on the shelf above,
next to the clock her father made for her…) :
scared of mice, of course, yet
feeling a strange affinity; remembering
as daughters do, her beloved father
whose clockmaker's posture, back bent,
arms and hands ready for his intricate work,
she has inherited, as she holds her Beatrix Potter
cocoa mug between her delicate,
timid, pink, deft, humble yet
secret-strong, little paws…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
He's all grown up
Tiny hands lift
He cries out for mother
She picks him up and holds him close
And rocks in back to sleep
Small hands grab
The dirt feels good in his hands
He looks up at his sister
She picks some up too
Rough hands hold tight
The suit case rolls along the floor
He sits in his seat
And looks out the window
Pale hands pick up a controller
Button's press and c sticks move
His eyes fixed on a screen
He barely moves
Big hangs type
Bulletins, poems, and stories
He writes all night
He amazes his mother
Smaller hands move a mouse
His sister finds his poems
She wonders how he grew up so fast
She realizes he's all grown up
poem by Hannah Heins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Missing
Has anybody seen my mouse?
I opened his box for half a minute,
Just to make sure he was really in it,
And while I was looking, he jumped outside!
I tried to catch him, I tried, I tried....
I think he's somewhere about the house.
Has anyone seen my mouse?
Uncle John, have you seen my mouse?
Just a small sort of mouse, a dear little brown one,
He came from the country, he wasn't a town one,
So he'll feel all lonely in a London street;
Why, what could he possibly find to eat?
He must be somewhere. I'll ask Aunt Rose:
Have you seen a mouse with a woffelly nose?
He's just got out...
Hasn't anybody seen my mouse?
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Surprise Before Christmas
was a couple of days before Christmas
And all through our house
Wrapping supplies were still scattered
When my wife first saw the mouse
I was dozing watching TV
When I hear her query
'What's that running across the floor? '
Her eyes showing signs of fear and fury
Then I saw it too and hoped it was
Heading out on his way back
It was a mouse for sure
Fury light brown with eyes coal black
I jumped to my feet
To see what to do
Could I be fast enough to catch him
Or just hit him with my shoe
I scared him all right
He again ran across the floor
Hid behind our presents
Instead of going out the door
Help was on the way
My son handed my a broom
My wife standing in her chair
Watching from the other room
Our daughter on her cell phone
Also seemed full of fright
I heard her asking a friend
If she could go there to spend the night
Then the mouse was gone
Fast as a shot
At least that's what I told my wife
I showed her the spot
'See the bottom of the new door
where the the rug used to be
That's where he went out.'
Sounded convincing to me
She made me check all the rooms
Even close up the chimney flue blockikng any crack
I thought better and didn't ask
How Santa was going to get in with his sack
Finally she went to bed
I was soon to follow
I'm sure she knew my promise of
'No mouse for Christmas.' was hollow
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mouse Is Killed Today
a mouse is killed today
by an artist
who got mad because
the mouse ate his painting
of the nude woman
that evening while he got so furious
the mouse was at his hole
on the floor eating his usual cheese
the artist mumbled and murmured
and grumbled
and the mouse heard it
and called it
slapstick poetry
a doggerel,
the artist was not able to hold his temper
anymore
got an armalite and shot the hole with the mouse in it
in the name of art
the artist invokes his right to kill the mouse
he says it was
' clearly an artistic expression
and protected by the First Amendment.'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Are You Gloating?
Why are you gloating?
You look as if you were a mouse,
Who was just awarded...
A lifetime supply of cheese.
'That's almost funny.
No.
But...
Say I 'was' that mouse.'
Okay...
Mouse.
'And that mouse was suspected of stealing cheese.
And those who made the cheese...
Did all they could to find the mouse guilty of the crime.'
Go ahead,
I'm listening.
'And...
The mouse,
Kept telling the makers of cheese...
They actually befriended rats!
And those rats were the culprits of the theft all along.'
I don't get it.
What has that got to do with you?
'You see...
The folks had their eyes focused on the mouse closely.
Under microscope.
Not realizing they socialized and entertained disguised rats.
Masquerading as wholesome folks with undeniable integrity.'
What became the outcome?
'Well...
Not only was the mouse awarded that lifetime of cheese you mentioned.
But efforts long dismissed achieved notoriety for that same mouse.'
Soooo,
'Why' are 'you' gloating?
'Forget it.
Just forget it.'
Hey,
Wait a minute.
Don't get angry with me.
You were the one to bring up the mice and rats in disguise,
Working inside a cheese factory.
Yeah...
That's right.
Walk away.
You need to lay that head down and get some rest.
No wonder I see him smiling all the time.
The dude is nuts!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maria's Lullaby
An extract from a poem written for my grandchildren to Brahms Lullaby
Sleep; little mice sleep
Mother will watch over you
Shut your eyes and don't peek
Tomorrow the skies will be blue
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
No harm will come whilst I am here
The sun has gone down by the peak
When the day dawns it will appear
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Your father is watching the house
That no owl or cat dares to seek
Harm to creatures or mouse
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Tomorrow you run and play
Now is not time to speak
When you awake a new day
Sleep; little mice sleep.
Sleep; little mice sleep
Rest now for your own sake
Shut your eyes now be asleep
I will be here when you awake
Sleep; little mice sleep.
poem by Thomas Golding
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Legal Mouse
A lawyer had a legal mouse,
A naughty one they say,
That took possession of his house
And papers ev'ry day,
His books and records it would gnaw,
Without regard for loss,
Its disrespect and lack of awe
Just kept the owner cross.
When no revenge the man could get,
His anger blazed so high,
Till he declared when next they met,
The mouse would surely die.
The murder, all the world should know,
He planned with ire intense,
To strike the mouse a fatal blow
And call it self-defence.
One day the desk he opened wide,
The mouse in regal state,
Sat in a pigeon hole, inside,
In style the scene was great.
A stroke the lawyer at it gave,
A star it made to flee,
Into a hole its life to save,
To find security.
When he had guarded well the hole,
It scrambled for the floor,
Again he kept it from the goal,
Its life endangered more.
The door of hope he seemed to close
Upon the enemy;
Its feelings then, nobody knows,
Its longings to be free.
Up through his sleeve it made a break,
In search of freedom sweet;
His arm he then began to shake,
To bring it to his feet.
His cuff was thrown away, no doubt,
The button had to go;
His coat and vest he tore about,
The mouse had scared him so.
All o'er his body, too, he felt
The mouse, though such a prig,
Himself he then began to pelt,
To yell and dance a jig.
His thoughts he threw around his will,
The same he had not made;
He felt uncertain which would kill,
Such terror was displayed.
The neighbors and the police heard
The noise of that affray;
And to the spot, without a word,
They quickly made their way.
Upon his back, between his shirts,
The little mouse was found.
'Twas hard, amid' so many flirts,
To bring it to the ground.
Out of his coat, upon advice,
He came, with haste replete.
The room-door opened in a trice
And made good his retreat.
The mouse was taken from its place
Of hiding and of dread,
So painful was the last embrace,
It fell down by him—dead.
Then to the crowd the lawyer said,
'Of such, my friends, beware,
Mine enemy, the mouse, is dead,
Such things we all can spare.
'The killing, in my case, was one
Of self-defence, 'tis true;
And, on the whole, I've only done
As other men would do;
'But still, my hands are red with blood!
That mandate, 'Do not kill,'
Prevents the waters of the flood
From washing off the ill.'
To all who shall the story read,
And many will, I trust,
Don't kill a helpless mouse, I plead,
Unless the killing's just.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hickory dickory dock,
the mouse ran up the clock;
the clock struck one
and down he run;
hickory dickory dock.
by Mother Goose from Tom Thumb's Pretty Songbook (1744)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Freedom From Martyrdom
As I carried a glass of hot milk at night,
I believe has Tryptophan, helps sleep tight.
Passed by his door slightly ajar, hand on mouse
Eyes glued to the lap top, pin dropp silence in the house.
I promised myself to confront him next day
And say in an even and firm tone this is no way.
Next morning at nine o clock rang his cell phone.
Checking his mail he muttered please leave me alone.
Hesitantly he took the call, and raised his voice in irritation,
What, a call from centre for de addiction and rehabilitation?
Glared at me, if only looks could kill; you need help you do;
Please do I as I say, I blurted, or else I am sure to leave you.
He didn’t even pause, said allow me to make reservations.
Totally unprepared, was aghast at his curt suggestion.
I kept mum feeling defeated and a lot helpless.
This case is closed, beyond reason and hopeless.
I sought solace in the wisdom of a girl friend.
After hearing my tale, gave me strong coffee blend.
The point is I doubt if he will take any notice
If you make a case for
bigamy and call the police.
With his eyes off you, dear now finally you have freedom.
Make most of it and forget about theatrics and martyrdom.
Let’s weigh the pros and cons; there are some perks
Those come with a married tag, think before dumping the jerk.
Make a life independent of him, travel and follow your dream
Now, you smile, come lets go to the bar for Bailey's Irish cream
Be glad for small mercies: its just a mouse trap.
What if it were a woman fluttering her eye lids on his lap
Why care who sits on his lap and where his hands are,
In mock exasperation we chortled in the lounge bar..
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(Life Poem/Short Story) A Really Bad Day
I go to work only not to work.
Chippers broke.
And it has my boss stoked.
A really bad day.
I help fix the equipment.
Knowing I will not get paid.
So I get on with it without delay
A really bad day.
I come home to show my boss my new program installed.
And when I show him how to use it.
Coffee gets spilled all over, my keyboard, mouse and his bibs.
A really bad day.
I dry my things off.
Plug them back in and turn my computer back on.
The mouse no longer works.
A really bad day.
I take it apart clean the circuit board off.
I put it back together and plug it in.
It still does not work.
A really bad day.
My boss start beating it.
Thinking that will make it work.
I tell him no but still he continues to do so.
A really bad day.
Finally he gives up and is ready to go.
I tell him wait little bit while I take shower.
As I go get my cloth a pipe breaks.
A really bad day.
Hot water gushes everywhere in the laundry room.
I run outside dig in the snow to find the valve to shut it off.
Now my hands are cold.
A really bad day.
So now I go get the parts I need.
No going out drinking tonight indeed.
Both a shut off valve and a washing machine connection piece.
A really bad day.
I cut the pipe put on the valve.
Only to realize it is defective and doesn't work.
Next I put on the connection piece only to find out it leaks.
A really bad day.
And when I think it cant get any worse.
I have go out and split wood and the snow is a blowing.
My gloves can't grip the axe it slips and hits my foot with a whack.
A really bad day.
Thank god for steel toes.
So I take off my gloves and do it that way.
And again my hands are cold so all I have to say.
Is it's a really bad day.
Finally I come in and take another look at my mouse.
I finally fixed it.
Only to realize it is time to go to bed.
A Really Bad Day.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scary Monster
Scary monster are walking down the streets of Dubling and searching the Pipes for mouse
But for now there are no mouse to be found
And the scary monster try also to get in into people's garage in Dublin And there the scary monters finds a few mouse to eat
But now the hunting started and the scary monster haunted every mouse that was in the people's garage in Dubling
Also the scary monster was satisfied with his dinner
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Round The Corner
The mouse run 'round the corner
The mouse run 'round the corner
a mouse ran 'round the corner
an' straight off down the hall.
Pretty much dun all over
pretty much dun all over
pretty much dun all over
by the light of day, she run.
Her putty tail aflying
a putty tail aflyin'
her putty tail aflying
dividin' the hurryscurry air.
She vanish in the floor shine
he vanish in the floor shine
they vanish in the floor shine
and into the puddle sun.
We laugh all day Black Friday
we laugh all day Black Friday
we laugh all day Black Friday
and all the day before.
And all the day before, now
and all the day before, now
and all the day before, at how
folk will flock to sales.
The mouse run 'round the corner
the mouse run 'round the corner
a mouse ran 'round the corner
and straight off up the hall.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who is the Best..?
Once there was this Rishi
Living under a banyan tree
Meditating on Him, all his life
Alone, without worries or wife..
It was a sunny day, bit hazy
Rishi was relaxed and lazy
A mouse came running and fell at his feet
A cat came chasing to eat
The mouse prayed 'Gimme shelter or u sin'
The cat said 'Protecting my food is no less a thing'
Rishi had to decide one way or other
Rishi blessed the mouse to be his daughter
The daughter grew into a beautiful woman
Time came for Rishi to think of her man.
He asked the daughter for any criteria or test
She said she wanted only the Best
Best of a man is a Rishi, said the father
Not really so, said the daughter
When Rishi said, better than a Rishi is the only Sun
No, said the daughter, not the burning hot one!
Rishi asked the Sun, if he knows anyone better
The Sun said, try the Cloud, it hides my power
When Rishi told her of the Cloud's valor
No, said the daughter, I hate the dark color
Rishi asked the Cloud, who betters it
The Cloud said, surely the Wind, it blows me out
Rishi asked the daughter, if Wind is her choice
No, said the daughter, It just makes noise.
Rishi asked the Wind, for a better person
The Wind said, It is the immovable Mountain
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mountain passes her test
No, said the daughter, full of trough and crest
Rishi asked the Mountain for the best in the land
The Mountain said, It is the Mouse that crushes it to sand
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mouse is her groom
Yes, said the daughter, I love his eyes that zoom..
Rishi made his daughter back into a mouse
They married and lived in a hole as their house
The Best for a mouse is mouse, for Rishi a Rishi, for crook a crook
It depends on what you look out for; your outlook!
poem by TheBigThinkg Human
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hickory-dickory Dock! The Lonely Mouse Runs up the Clock!
I saw imaginary masks walking along the streets in the Wolf Creek,
So I too wear a mask to hide my tears with a big smile plastic.
An absolute darkness is eating me, all I can feel is heebie-jeebies;
Yuk! I'm sucked deeper and deeper into a hole of screaming meemies!
Gee! I lay in the dark - with fang and claw, a lonely serpent stings;
Hickory-dickory dock! A Lonely Mouse runs up the clock with 24 masks.
A round-backed figure with a cigar is sitting on the narrow bridge
Heaving tortuous sighs, sledging at his own shadow with a grudge;
A lonely man is a lonesome thing - a stone, a stick and a bone!
Ugh! Shedding two tears, I Weep alone and walk alone in a cyclone.
Gee! I lay in the dark - with fang and claw, a lonely serpent stings;
Hickory-dickory dock! A Lonely Mouse runs up the clock with 24 masks.
I bid to meet harlequin on a tree pine and in palanquin a bride,
Ugh! One merry Andrew and a lonely gremlin took me for a ride;
To hide the wounds, I strive alone; if heart breaks, I mourn alone!
As the petals fell upon the stem of thorns, a rose in me died alone.
Gee! I lay in the dark - with fang and claw, a lonely serpent stings;
Hickory-dickory dock! A Lonely Mouse runs up the clock with 24 masks.
A cold wind is swinging branches in dark graveyard without light;
Tut-tut! Obscure clouds are overcasting skies in a mournful sight!
I died a death but stayed alive; in phantom's likeness I survive;
Alive, yet dead, I walk alone in rooms with walls as cold as stone.
Gee! I lay in the dark - with fang and claw, a lonely serpent stings;
Hickory-dickory dock! A Lonely Mouse runs up the clock with 24 masks.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Alchemist And The Mouse
Once there lived an alchemist in a strange and distant land,
So wise and famous and revered, great power he did command.
For he could turn base metal in a flash to solid gold,
And so the alchemist grew rich, as he in years grew old.
The alchemist had riches, but a mortal man was he,
And came unto his house one day, a gypsy to foresee
His fortune with a crystal ball that showed his time was nigh,
So he a magic potion made, his own death to defy.
And when this potion to give immortality was made,
He took the potion to his lips, but then his hand he stayed,
For there his pet, a small brown mouse, was sitting on his knee;
He gave the mouse a sip and waited, the effect to see.
So time it passed, the mouse it thrived, so then he drank the brew.
Now safe from death, his fame increased, and so his fortune grew.
And so the years went by, he didn't age, always was well;
He and the mouse lived on, and to them nothing bad befell.
The centuries rolled on, his friends and relatives were dead.
In time the human race was gone as onward time it sped,
But even Earth is mortal, and at last the Sun grew tired;
The Earth became a cold dark rock, its spirit had expired.
And all was black, for only feeble starlight pricked the sky,
And silence reigned for there were only two who didn't die;
There gazing out to space, the last two tenants of the house;
The sad and lonely alchemist; by his side an ancient mouse.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The City Mouse And The Garden Mouse
The city mouse lives in a house; -
The garden mouse lives in a bower,
He's friendly with the frogs and toads,
And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese; -
The garden mouse eats what he can;
We will not grudge him seeds and stalks,
Poor little timid furry man.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alankar (Decor) -32
Chase (Rondeau Redoubled)
I won't let you go out o' little mouse
Shall see to it once and all for today
You run run-I run run-round round the house
But I win, you're caught and lost just today
Here I keep the trap to trap and dismay
Sugared magic sure you're fooled o'poor mouse
Cunning you think? brainy you think? ..today
I won't let you go out o' little mouse
Fought, caught, taught to rot petty petty mouse
Bitter squeaks, what a pest, what a hell, hey
Snouty mouse, messy beast, out from this house
Shall see to it once and all for today
May foe feline be fed on you today
Be hooked and thrown-that I shall venge you mouse
Ha, ha, ha then shall all end just today
You run run-I run run-round round the house
No reason, no season, no taste o' mouse
krrkk, krrkk-nibbling all things, all time whole day
Like thief hide and steal you do in my house
But I win, you're caught and lost just today
Here is the trap for your best goal today
Slip in soundless for the 'masaal' o'mouse
I'm sure you will tempted fall but at bay
Thrown awed by foe feline outside the house
I won't let you
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Moved My Cheese?
'Who moved my cheese? ' the poor mouse screamed!
He really looked distraught!
For cheese was everything he dreamed,
Worth risking getting caught!
His jaw dropped low, his shoulders slumped,
His mind was all agog!
His one-track thoughts completely numbed,
'Was it the cat or dog? '
He fumed and fumed quite powerless,
For nothing could be done!
For someone nicked his happiness
And half-inched all his fun!
He vowed someone would pay for this...
Revenge began to grow...
His hateful heart began to fizz...
This was the final blow!
He scampered cross the kitchen floor,
Ran down the garden path...
The dog hid cheese beneath his paw,
But then began to laugh!
'You'll pay for that, I'll get you back! '
The dog rolled on the ground!
'Come on, then, let's see you attack! '
The mouse soon turned around!
(August 2011)
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Baby In The House
I knew that a baby was hid in that house,
Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry;
But the husband was tip-toeing 'round like a mouse,
And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby;
And there was a look on the face of the mother,
That I knew could mean only one thing, and no other.
The mother, I said to myself, for I knew
That the woman before me was certainly that;
And there lay in a corner a tiny cloth shoe,
And I saw on a stand such a wee little hat;
And the beard of the husband said, plain as could be,
'Two fat chubby hands have been tugging at me.'
And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book,
And a dog that could bark, if you pulled on a string;
And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look;
And I said to myself, 'There is no other thing
But a babe that could bring about all this, and so
That one thing is in hiding somewhere, I know.'
I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more,
And heard not a sound, yet I know I was right;
What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor,
The book and the toy, and the faces so bright;
And what made the husband as still as a mouse?
I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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