Mother and the Mouse

by Faith Trekson

My Mother is not the sort of Mum
who'll  squeal and faint and shiver,
Darkness doesn't scare her,
When it thunders she won't quiver!

When I decide to play up
she fixes me with a stare,
One flashing look from her big eyes,
and I just don't care to dare!

So it was with shock, one morning,
when I woke up from a dream,
To hear my valiant, mighty Mum,
let out a high-pitched scream!

I raced to see her perched up high,
upon the kitchen sink,
Squealing like a baby bat,
Right on the edge, the brink.

I asked her what the matter was,
Had the pressure cooker burst?
Or had the oven scorched her hand?
I did expect the worst!

She whimpered like a baby,
And pointed to a mouse,
That had the gall and temerity,
to enter into our house!

I picked a broom and shooed at it,
I chased it to the hall,
I almost whacked it sharply,
for driving Mummy up that wall.

But it was quick and cunning
and soon gave me the slip,
It vanished in the hallway,
into the garden skip.

I ran into the kitchen,
and helped my Mummy down,
Trembling like an autumn leaf,
She wore a frightened frown...

"I don't like mice", she whispered,
Her big eyes round with fear,
I felt like superheros do,
so glad that I was near!

I told her not to worry,
With the mice I was at war
I promised her that she'd be safe,
For thats what sons are for!

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