(no subject)

[signontheline]

And then I wrote bad poetry after not doing so for several years.


The dormouse and march hare sat alone for tea.
Said the mouse to the hare "You are prouder than me
And yet there are times you seem shyer, I see."
The hare perked a brow in response to this.
"For a young mouse addled with sleep's mist--"
Then he found himself silenced by the tiniest kiss.
Just one on his nose to elicit surprise
Perhaps laced by mischief in that dormouse's eyes.
"Look here," said the hare. "I've had quite enough of your cheek."
But from this protest there was nary a peep.
For the poor mouse had fallen quite sound asleep.
All the hare could do was shake his head
At the dormouse's evident poor choice of bed.