The Field Mouse Came Calling
As I was strolling through the woods,
I saw him hiding there.
So quiet, meek and mild was he,
So sweet, I found him fair.
That evening by the campfire,
I spied him once again,
Sitting just outside the glow,
He tried hard to blend in,
And not be seen by firelight,
He came to guitar strum,
He timidly crept closer,
As to the tune I hummed.
Crouching there beside my knee,
The cutest little mouse,
Came to listen to my song,
And grace me and my spouse,
With his quiet company,
For he was all alone,
And I felt blessed to have him come,
For people oft are prone,
To screech and rave about a mouse,
Or something they think vermin,
This tiny little thing of God's,
Did not so me determine.
Judy Ball
We so often miss out on a blessing because we fear something or sonsider it beneath us.
Once on a camping trip as I sat strumming my guitar by the fire, a little field mouse came into the camp and cuddled by my knee as I knelt on the ground with my guitar.
I felt so honored that he came. He must have been terribly lonely or cold or hungry or something to trust us that way.
He came to the soothing music I guess.
When I moved he scurried away and I felt I'd somehow lost something special.
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