Variation on A Theme of Mice, Part I

Years ago, I wrote a poem similar to the one you will soon read in this post. It has since, unfortunately, been lost, though whether that's unfortunate or not is a matter of conjecture. Here is the poem, as I have recreated it: What remains of the original is the general meter and the first and last lines of the first stanza. The rest is of new cloth.

When a mouse gets et by a cat
and don’t return to its homes
does the widder come a-lookin’
and scrub the poop from his bones?

When a mouse is digested and lumpish
all femurs and tibias and fur
does the family seek out the turd he’s in
while cursing the evil-fanged cur?

And mourned for its sad, brief existence
grieved for as Mother Machree
lost, and sorely lamented
as a sailor dead and buried at sea?

Or is the mouse, quietly defecated
blamed for its messy demise
and the bones left to moulder with feces
with no tears in the widder’s wide eyes?

I don’t know, I don’t know hisses Tabby
while Tiddles and Morris just laugh
When I eat, I just eat, don’t be churlish
I don’t think on my meal’s sad behalf.

Maybe this poem is better off lost. But it is part of the mouse-themed writing I've done for years. Don't ask me why. Well, go ahead. It's Robert C. O'Brien's/Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH's fault. I read that book in the fourth grade and since then have been entranced with mice that talk like humans. But this poem seems a bit dark for anything child-related.