Green Cheese

A poem.

On a dusty eve in mid-May
was when this young mouse did first peacefully lay,
lulled by the perfection that was the gift of a child’s moon,
a gift from one he did not deserve to make swoon.

She was deep of hair and fair of face,
and even though all she gave was ‘mouse gold’ far out worth his fillin’
she was bludgeoned by a mace
held by our little mousey villain.

But this was not so at first.
In the beginning all men have that drive; to eat the gift to quench their thirst
and it was not done so without return
as both mouse and woman of love they did discern.

So the mouse would come out from depths to please his lady
by dancing, spinning, doing tricks, and sharing his past only verging on the shady.
Like this it did go both ways
and truly was meant to last until the end of days.

Yet one day the ricks came to an end,
the fair lady knew she had lost her mousey friend.
It was not as though in cheese or contact there was a lack
the cruel mouse just when in her presence gave her nothing back.

Yet even more the fool when all was the mouse’s fault
and he was peeping out at her with Invidia in a vault
as now she offered small gifts to rats
and after a single trick and leave her eyelids she did bat.

Still just as fair as face but not so of her the heart
the mouse now curses spites and raves “that stupid dirty tart”.
Despite many second guesses to him this answer stays as rock
a flaw o disregard in others but she was greater than the stock.

Yet we all know who is to blame
ever bolstering his own fame
for the ruination of said dame.
One; old mouse, now left crippled and self-made emotionally lame.