The manly cowboy put back his hat,
closed the door,
and so manly,
walked away.

Down the path he trod,
avoiding all the rolling rod.

Upon he came
to three little young lasses,

crouching over
looking silently intent,
little sticks in their hands.

There lay a little
grey mole*
dead to the world.

Stiff as tree
eyes no longer to see.

“Good day ladies”
said he,
the manly cowboy,
tipping his hat
so very gentlemanly.

“what’s  that i see you a pokin’?”

‘Only a dead mouse.”
said the three.

“Why don’t you move
the little guy,
over a little there,
over a little that way.

"slowly with your sticks.
gentle as tongs.

"cover him sweetly
with a blanket
of wild flowers.

"and leave him
lying there so lovingly."

i give you this advice
be nice to the mice,

instead of poking death
death in the head
so innocently
but
so disrespectfully.”

Then tipping his hat,
he was gone.

****** blowers,
never ending.

straight to living hell,
you are, me, sending.