A man, bent of many years, across the street I did spy
With bag of refuge in old hand,
Tending gently to his land.
Picking twigs and bits of leave, with gloved hand, rolled up sleeve
Turning his autumn yard,
Free of such discard.
Then in time as time stands still, life alone, life of will
A lump of clay a breathless mouse,
Lying silent near his house.
So boldly man with gloveless hand did now reach
Stifled mouse, did nary retreat,
With one quick toss onto the street.
And as I watch upon hidden perch such act of solemn soul
A tear I felt within my eye,
To honor small death as death goes by.
Then old man walks a step away turns back once head so low
Can he be... and looks back twice
A light of sorrow?... And he turns back thrice.
With mind made up he strode with aim
Towards stiffened prince of cheese,
Dormant on street man approached with ease.
Planted firm his foot did find with heavy booted swing
To his task not quite complete
Kicked dusty mouse further down the street.