The Singing Mice

 The Singing Mice
by Elizabeth A. Davis

A Little family of mice
Lived in a hold as snug and nice
As ever mice could wish to live.
They'd plenty, and a grain to give
To any poorer little mouse
That chanced to come about the house.
But one day - 'twas the strangest thing -
They fancied they must learn to sing;
Then such a racket as begun!
From early morn till set of sun
The mother mouse grew wild with dread;
She said such actions turned her head,
That mice were never made to sing,
And surely 'twould a trouble bring.
At this the mousies only laughed
They thought their mother merely chaffed;
But still they sung, and sung, and sung,
Till every beam and rafter rung,
And good old farmer Brown declared
He'd have to have his house repaired:
''It's old and shaky, and the wind
Comes searching every crack to find.''
''Not so,'' then Mistress Brown replied;
''It's rats and mice that sneak and hide,
And keep up such a frightful din
You'd think the house had tumbled in;
But I've a remedy for that, -
I'll get a good and faithful cat.''
Next morning came, and Mistress Brown
An early journey took to town,
Returning with her friend, the cat,
An animal so sleek and fat
She looked as though she'd fed on mice,
Or something else as sweet and nice,
Her whole life long. And, oh! her eyes
So green, so sleepy, and so wise!
She crept along the kitchen floor,
And sniffed at every closet door,
Across the hall, and through the house, -
'Twas evident she smelt a mouse;
At length she disappeared from view -
What follows now is strictly true -
Beneath the crazy garret floor
She found the mice - they numbered four -
All in their hole, and quite content,
Unthinking of the punishment
Their mother said would find them out
When they began to sing and shout.
So, little children, give an ear
When wise ones counsel danger near.