The Mouse

The moonbeams spear
Sporadic forest webs
Playing with light peeling the
Shadows from the forest floor.

Raindropp tears cling
To sleeping bluebells,
Swirling winds accentuate
The wolf pack howls.

The little mouse leaves his house
As the radar beams
Set the focus of the
Predator’s eye, the talons ease.

Its formidable body
Leaves the bough,
Silent, swift, down so fast,
Not so lucky with it’s empty grasp.

What creator’s gift led the mouse
Back to his house?
Innate impulsion saved his life, now
Warm and cosy with his wife!

poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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