Amylee Mouserel
A Timid Mouse
by Amylee Moserel
A timid mouse, amidst enchanted boughs,
In this mystic forest, where silence allows,
I scuttle through the shadows, unseen and small,
A creature of grace, within natureās thrall.
With whiskers quivering, I explore the unknown,
An observer of secrets, a world of my own.
In hidden nooks, I find solace and peace,
A humble poet, seeking natureās release.
Amongst the mossy floor, I pen my prose,
In solitudeās embrace, my verses compose.
In whispers soft, like the rustle of leaves,
My words find flight, in a language that breathes.
The enchanted forest, my sanctuary divine,
A tapestry of wonder, where dreams intertwine.
I observe the dance of sunlight and shade,
In the delicate balance, my heart is swayed.
Each tremor of fern, each whisper of tree,
A symphony of nature, unseen by most eyes that see.
I dwell in the margins, a humble poetess,
Translating the beauty that many fail to express.
Oh, gentle petals and dew-kissed blooms,
I gather your essence, your fragrant perfumes.
Through tiny windows, I glimpse natureās soul,
And capture its essence, in my versesā fold.
In the hushed stillness of this enchanted domain,
I seek truths whispered, unburdened by strain.
A field mouseās voice, tender and discreet,
In the heart of this forest, my poetry shall meet.
So, let the meadows be my canvas pure,
Where verses unfurl, gentle and demure.
For in this enchanted realm, where secrets reside,
I, a field mouse poet, find solace and abide.