The Fieldmouse

By Fred

In dead of night, and unafraid,

The fieldmouse from its house had strayed.

This creature small, a tiny ball

Climbed a stem, through wind and squall.

But shadow cast by eerie moon,

Warned it of impending doom.

An owl, hunting from on high

Swooped low, emitting fearful cry.

Claws spread wide, open beak,

Plunged upon its prey to keep.

Filled with fear, mouse turned to run,

Owl drew near, the race was on.

In combats past it got away

And lived to see another day.

But fate decreed the night had come

For mouse to end in owl’s fat tum!

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