Being a mouse is not easy,
I can tell you that much for free.
You think you know of my troubles?
Then please, sit, I’ll put on some tea.
My name is Tillie Von Treeger,
A local to this large oak tree,
However my life is now destined
To be doomed to this misery.
I’ve tried to live in small measure,
With no strife or wild fantasy,
But those scribbling over-keen authors,
They really just won’t leave me be!
I have told them time again,
I’m not interested in their stories,
But they insist on abusing my name
In their books, (yes, it is four ‘e’s).
One time Miss Beatrix Potter,
Spied me eating in the grasses,
She grabbed my tail (the cheek!)
And served my picture to the (m)asses.
She held me as her prisoner
With her cooing and mad habits,
I don’t know which was worse,
Her voice or those bloody rabbits.
After breaking free from Potty,
(With the help of a moody hedgehog)
I thought ‘Yes! Now I can be free!’
But alas, all my hopes were backlogged.
Next thing I knew my legs were strung
And my eyes blind-folded,
‘Tell us your story and you’ll keep your tail’
Choked a voice, contrary and scold(ed).
Freed from the nursery rhyme addicts,
I turned my (attached) tail and ran,
But only to land quite precisely
In the crevice of Mr Dahl’s hand.
After being retrieved from the ceiling
Feeling so hugely harassed,
I barely missed Jarvis’ grasp,
As he begged for a word (oh, how crass).
So now you can see,
It’s not easy for me,
To live happily
In my small little tree
And now I must learn
I won’t leave in turn
As I think Rabbie Burns
Is camped in those ferns, yet