To a Mouse
You are a little meadow mouse,
the lowest in the vast food chain.
You have no taste for flesh yourself,
You dine on grasses, bulbs and grains.
Your wise mama taught you to fear,
before taken by a keen eyed owl,
while she was looking to the side
at a pampered house cat on the prowl.
The predators are everywhere,
from side to side, from up and down.
The only time you can relax,
is in your den within the ground.
You wonder why God deemed that you
should be another creature's food,
and if he has a place where you
can be protected and not chewed.
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