Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer

A Legal Mouse - Poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer

A lawyer had a legal mouse,
A naughty one they say,
That took possession of his house
And papers ev'ry day,

His books and records it would gnaw,
Without regard for loss,
Its disrespect and lack of awe
Just kept the owner cross.

When no revenge the man could get,
His anger blazed so high,
Till he declared when next they met,
The mouse would surely die.

The murder, all the world should know,
He planned with ire intense,
To strike the mouse a fatal blow
And call it self-defence.

One day the desk he opened wide,
The mouse in regal state,
Sat in a pigeon hole, inside,
In style the scene was great.

A stroke the lawyer at it gave,
A star it made to flee,
Into a hole its life to save,
To find security.

When he had guarded well the hole,
It scrambled for the floor,
Again he kept it from the goal,
Its life endangered more.

The door of hope he seemed to close
Upon the enemy;
Its feelings then, nobody knows,
Its longings to be free.

Up through his sleeve it made a break,
In search of freedom sweet;
His arm he then began to shake,
To bring it to his feet.

His cuff was thrown away, no doubt,
The button had to go;
His coat and vest he tore about,
The mouse had scared him so.

All o'er his body, too, he felt
The mouse, though such a prig,
Himself he then began to pelt,
To yell and dance a jig.

His thoughts he threw around his will,
The same he had not made;
He felt uncertain which would kill,
Such terror was displayed.

The neighbors and the police heard
The noise of that affray;
And to the spot, without a word,
They quickly made their way.

Upon his back, between his shirts,
The little mouse was found.
'Twas hard, amid' so many flirts,
To bring it to the ground.

Out of his coat, upon advice,
He came, with haste replete.
The room-door opened in a trice
And made good his retreat.

The mouse was taken from its place
Of hiding and of dread,
So painful was the last embrace,
It fell down by him—dead.

Then to the crowd the lawyer said,
'Of such, my friends, beware,
Mine enemy, the mouse, is dead,
Such things we all can spare.

'The killing, in my case, was one
Of self-defence, 'tis true;
And, on the whole, I've only done
As other men would do;

'But still, my hands are red with blood!
That mandate, 'Do not kill,'
Prevents the waters of the flood
From washing off the ill.'

To all who shall the story read,
And many will, I trust,
Don't kill a helpless mouse, I plead,
Unless the killing's just.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 15, 2010

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