(As long as we’re on a mouse theme – )
Oh, to be a mouse—
a pet, that is, not a wild hated
burrower-in-walls, gnawer, food-stealer,
but gray, with loved and patted fur:
a house-mouse, as it were,
with some small unassuming name to fit one’s size
—to die, be buried and briefly mourned
and then forgotten and replaced.
This is the life,
in a clean-licked nutshell.
I love the written word more than anything else I've had the chance to work with. I'm back in the States from Japan for grad school, but still studying Japanese with the hope of becoming a translator -- or writer, or even teacher -- as long as it's something language-related.
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