A little mouse set out one day
On tiny paws not far from play,
His steps went pitter-pat on ice and stone,
Too late—he’d wandered far from home.

Beside a root with copper eyes
A fox looked down, all sharp and sly.
He licked his lips and tipped his head,
“Hello,” he chattered, “you look well-fed.”

The mouse felt fear beat in his chest,
But thought, I’ll fool him—do my best.
He puffed up small, he stamped the ground,
And made a most alarming sound.

“I’m late,” he squeaked, “to meet my crew,
A hundred strong—and angry too.
They’ll storm this field, they’ll shake the roots,
And chomp sly foxes into boots.”

The fox blinked once. The fox blinked twice.
He smiled a smile not very nice.
But then he heard a distant thrum—
Just wind, or wings? Or pounding blood?

The fox stepped back. The fox stepped away.
“Important meetings! Busy day!”
He vanished swift through brush and stone,
Leaving the little mouse alone.

The mouse walked on, his heart near bursting,
With pride at his own clever thirsting.
He reached his nest at dusk’s soft end—
All in one piece, brave and clever, you hear my friend.