From the Voice of a Mouse
I had fun with this poem (part of the persona ones) and it was especially enjoyable to write it all limerick-y. If you cringe when you get to the second stanza, third line, don’t worry. I do too.
From the Voice of a Mouse
Master’s displeased, I can see/where he usually pays no heed to me/ he throws insults stinging like a bee/ is he as witch-touched as past Duprés?
For news of the disturbance he bellows/and grins mischievous as a mogrin’s fellow/an emotion we could not quell-oh!/ when hearing of the wolf that did not mellow.
It had a fanged grin which filled me with fright/before it bounded off into the night/into the pastures devoid of light/oh, I wish I had not seen that sight.
Such an image only caught his minds’ eye/a fancy for which he would try/on a hunt he would go, quick and spry/until he heard that monster’s death cry.
Like a hero he would go/ with his gilded spear and crafted bow/ sending the beast to the land below/and receiving his accolades tomorrow.
We begged master, please/ that wolf will have you on your knees/ ripping at your throat with deadly ease/ and you’ll die with no hand to squeeze.
But our cautions he would not have/ and instead bade us to his armor perfume and lathe/ soon armored he left, but that errant knave/ went and took his rotten stave!
