Mousling (ie doesn’t fit on this blog but I did something so…)

Mousling, mousling oh so small
You are barely there at all
Yet when you squeak you must be heard
Who made this contrast, so absurd?

Was it in the black of night
Where eyes were formed, so button bright?
Who rolled your tail thin and long,
Curved and fluid like a song?

And what tender hand and gift
Could make your movements oh so swift?
And, when your mewling be first given,
From whence the melody be riven?

What toil the felter’s hook incur
When busying to make your fur?
How fast the tailor’s darner flick?
How swift the knitter’s needle click?

And when they heard your skitter claws
And witnessed first your leathered paws
Did breath from waiting lungs be torn
As they gazed on perfect fluff-hewn form?

Mousling, mousling, oh so small
You are barely there at all
Yet when you squeak you must be heard
Who made this contrast, so absurd?

PS. Obviously this is based on The Tyger by the inimitable Blake, and I’m not just ripping him off – I’m teaching the poem after half term and – in a uniquely primary school way – we’re finishing off by writing our own. Hence, I had a go.

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2 thoughts on “Mousling (ie doesn’t fit on this blog but I did something so…)

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