Published after the Tory party were re elected with a shift to the right wing.
The mouse who lives under my wood pile
Has an excellent healthy diet.
He lives on Strawberries, Redcurrants and Mulberries.
He finds all of these vitals, within easy reach of his cosy warm burrow.
If I ever catch my sweet little mouse
I will make him comfortable in an expensive cage,
I will feed him generously with Dandelions, and Bindweed and Buttercup,
But I will never forget to put his favourite foods
Where he can see them, and smell them, but just out of his reach.
This is not new, I wrote it some time ago, but think it may help our nerves to change the subject.
I was chastised for not tolerating my small neighbour, so I had to explain my difficulties.
Little Mousey is a fat cat,
He has built up a fortune this year alone.
He’s taken all my Strawberies
Which he nips by by the stalk before they are ripe,
And lays down like old wine to mature.
My Mulberries fall bounteously around his head,
And scatter, a rich carpet around him.
For Redcurrants he need only push out his nose,
And pick the sweetest, fattest on offer.
But I can only be cruel when I catch him,
For now, for sure, he’s winning.
But one day he’ll get bold,
And he’ll snooze in the open,
His belly full and heavy.
Finally the rodent replied, and put me in my place.
The man who comes to pick strawberries
Is very disheartened indeed.
I left him a few, around the far edge,
And he took them, but never said-Thank you.
He’s simply not quick enough
To catch mulberries,
He tries to pick them,
But the best ones are loose
And fall straight through his hands.
I pity this man,
He seems to be trying,
But has no idea what he’s doing for sure.
And now the land is parched,
I have a mountain of berries
Piled up to see me through,
But he keeps putting water over odd feeble looking plants.
I hope he’s not gone mad?
The stalemate continues to this day. I think you will agree my mouse is doing better than me.