A little mouse in the kitchen
Quietly hidden 
Behind lower cupboards.
He seems hypnotized 
By cooking smells.
 
He wants to escape
His hiding place,
But a dog lurking around
He senses.

 Some breadcrumbs
 Fell off while dishing away
 A poor man’s toast,
 so I leave them there
 for the little mouse's tea.

 The suave hunter
 Now enters the room.
 The mouse is scared and silenced,
 As he can smell 
 His early morning death.
 
Momo is shedding,
The floor is full of hair.
His stomach is rumbling,
The mouse will turn
into woolly snow one day.

I turn a blind eye
And leave the room.
A new chapter is
Waiting for me
By my bedside table.
 
There are no sounds, 
And on the floor
The hair remains unswept.
There are no dry tears either
For what the eyes can’t see.