No More Than Six Hundred
Scrambling and rambling
The mice were racing through
We held back, not wanting them
To drag their ugly tails over our feet.
Tearing paper into tiny bits
The mice were on fire, running in all directions.
The few people in the street
Ran back to their houses.
It was reported on the news that night
That there were tens of thousands of mice
Running through, tormenting us.
I counted most of them.
There were no more than six hundred.
You know how the news often exaggerates.
It did not used to be that way
But all standards have been tossed out now.
Uh-oh. I hear some scrambling and rambling
On my roof. I check the calendar.
It’s December 25th. I run to my bed.
I do believe in Santa! I do believe in Santa!
The mice stole my slippers that night
Ate Santa’s cookies and left a napkin
Shredded into little bitty bits.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2019
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