It was a small death <br />silently met <br />in a warm night. <br /> <br />Morning came <br />with a sad mouth <br />telling a truth <br /> <br />we did not need <br />in our busy home. <br />Run out of time <br /> <br />on the scurrying wheel, <br />he no longer hid <br />his head or burrowed <br /> <br />under the papery <br />shavings, curled <br />plump from the real <br /> <br />hardness of light, <br />but, humped, lay <br />lost as a cry <br /> <br />in the wide cage. <br />One comes to expect <br />no less of fate <br /> <br />than Finis. It <br />is a turned page, <br />a different pledge.<br /><br />Robin Skelton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-of-a-mouse/
