Cathedral Mice

A cathedral stands in the square,

A shining sepulcher placed on

A hill in the eyes of the mice

That fill and inhabit it,

Scurrying, screeching as they do,

While tearing away at the flesh

Of saints, fresh and aged alike.

The rank, ubiquitous stench of hypocrisy

Wafts from that dim-lit hall

Where sparrows and crows

Wait in the rafters and sometimes

Hawks and owls, too.

They watch their prey below as they

Pray to their own gods,

Greedy jaws working as they squawk,

Dissatisfied by decaying goods,

Though before content with what

Was offered them to eat.

The filth of this tomb remains

Concealed beyond heavy, ornate gates,

And the mice, in their mindless ecstasy are unaware

Of the predators waiting in ranks above,

Never revealed, too high above for mice, prostrate

To detect, until it is much too late.