THE FIELD MICE

They weren't blind and there wasn't three of them,
we saw how they ran after the farmer's wife,
cut off their tales with a carving knife,
did you ever see such a thing in your life.

The long grass was tall above like skyscrapers, 
no one could see or hear our delightful capers, 
I'm going to write a book or maybe three,
then you'll sit up and take notice of poor old me.

We played football, mouse tag and fell down hollows,
twittered and shimmied with everthing that follows,
then there were footsteps so we dived for cover,
see ugly, illiterate humans and grin at each other.

There's a thing about mice - thereby hangs a tail,
your knowledge is limited, like a whiter shade of pale.