The harvest mouse now sits sleeping, its tightly coiled guise
Not concealing dainty paws, or glittering beady eyes.
It turns in sleep and restless, it tweaks its shining nose
And emerging from its slumber, the harvest mouse doth rise.
Scampering through the field, nibbling scattered pieces of grain
The harvest mouse forgets the summer and the autumn rain.
Forgets that while it was asleep, sometime its partner rose
And left our merry harvest mouse alone yet not insane.
In solitude the harvest mouse returns to its grassy bed
Scurrying as it twitches both its nose and russet head.
Curled in sleep from twisted tail to lightly bended toes
Some might envy the harvest mouse, ignorant that love is dead.