The Mouse

In a faraway forest, a dark, distant wood
Unknown to mankind, (no doubt for our own good)
A small population of animals live
Shrouded in shade exposition trees give

The moon lit the scene, for indeed it was night
The treetops below bathed in silvery light
The wind whistled softly, and no words were said
For all of the creatures were tucked up in bed

All except one; the brown mouse could not sleep
He tossed and he turned, counted fictional sheep
He walked to the window, and paced round the floor
“Oh, for this awakeness I must find a cure”

So he picked up his compass and threw on a hat
Gathered some string, put the door on the latch
Lit his best torch and walked into the trees
Hoping to learn to dispel his unease

The first soul he reached was the Internet Owl
A bird oh so clever, the wisest of fowl
Drawing his courage the mouse gave a stir
“Erm, sorry, excuse me, one moment, good sir”

“Too-wit” said the owl, his head turning to see
The mouse prone before him, frail and fatigued
He stretched out his wings before scratching his beak
To the mouse he then said “Too-what do you seek?”

“Forgive me, wise sir, but I cannot sleep.”
But then the owl motioned “Please cease to speak.”
“I have answers for you,” he cooed as he beckoned
“about two point five million in nought point one seconds”.

“There’s good news and bad news” he said with a sigh
“You might have cancer, but you’ve won a prize!”
The mouse felt unsure about this admonition
When the owl crowed “Let’s watch videos of kittens!”

“You see this woman? Dermatologists hate her!
Like what you found? Then bookmark it for later!”
The owl then turned round, flew into an ash tree
And with this he started singing Rick Astley.

The mouse gave a sigh; there was no answer here
Just an owl whose instructions were rather unclear
He heard, as he walked, and the big tree receded
The owl’s parting cry of ‘citation needed’.

The mouse did continue an hour or more
‘til his hind-legs were numb, and his paws slightly sore,
And he’d reached a great clearing, shrouded in fog
And there in the centre a large, lumpen log

The clearing was, within the woods, quite well known
For there were strange creatures that called it their home;
The politicobirds, of which there are two
One deepest red, the other bright blue

(Well that’s, not quite true, for you see there’s a third.
A yellow, a nervous, and much smaller bird
But she’s not mentioned much, and most students hate her
Something about being a fee-charging traitor...)

The birds take it in turns to sit a-top the tree
And once they are there, they loudly decree
“I know what is best for the fate of these woods
Now follow my words - you know you should.”

While not on the branch, they squark and they chatter
“That’s no way at all to settle the matter!
Squirrels should be free to keep their own nuts
Roll back the stoat; blame it on cuts!”

Today the Hedgefund Hogs were the source of debate
The red bird incandescent, yes, rather irate
“Remind me, again, why you’re given so much
Amidst accusations that we’re out of touch”.

“If you don’t, I might go offshore”
“But you cannot swim, and I’ll tell you what’s more
No-one can say what it is that you do!”
“Erm - it’s far too complex for the dull mind of you”.

The mouse gave a cough to attract their attention
But they were enthralled by their caustic contention
Aware that an answer would not be gleaned here
The mouse once again walked, the brave pioneer

The mouse stopped and thought about where he could go
Who could he ask? What friends did he know?
The aphorism otter? Laboured metaphor lynx?
Faux pas badger who speaks ere he thinks?

No, at this time of night they would all be asleep
Except for the meth mole, that doped-up blind creep
At an underground rave, he’d be completely wired
Dancing to Underworld, not getting tired

Then the mouse stumbled – he’d found resolution
An answer, some closure, a fix, a solution!
Drugs were the ticket, yes self-medication;
They would enable his instant sedation.

This story’s moral should now be quite clear
Don’t pester your friends for they don’t want to hear
So before insomnia takes a high toll
Go out to Boots and buy some Nytol


This poem sponsored by GlaxoSmithKline.