songs of experience

Since I am on the subject of children’s toys and children’s books, I thought I’d share with you a poem I wrote that was inspired by a story I heard about a non-conforming mouse. It’s called Edozien:

Edozien Grey, known simply as E.,
was a miniature mouse, just two inches three.
He lived in an alley, behind some peach crates
with twelve of his friends he called his mouse-mates.

In summer and autumn his mates searched the street
for niblets and crumblets and scraps of nut-meat.
Whatever they found went half in their bellies
and half into storage (except for fruit jellies
which are much too delicious to save for the cold).
Besides, reasoned they, all jams turn to mold
if left unattended, uneaten, untasted.
A good mouse should never let good food be wasted.

While all of his brothers were sniffing for stock,
Edozien chose to watch from a rock.
The head mouse said, “E., what’s with you? Hey, bub!
Come down off that rock and find us some grub!
Why aren’t you helping? Why don’t you pitch in?
Or haven’t you heard that sloth is a sin?”

Edozien answered, “Respectfully, Sir,
it’s not that I’m lazy; I’m saving azure
and purple and yellow and red, green, and black
and all other colors in winter we’ll lack.
I saved summer sunshine and starlight in June
and somehow I’ve managed to find half a moon.”

“Surely you’re joking. A madman!” they cried.
By now all the dozen were at the rock’s side.
“What else are you saving?” one doubter protested.
“He’s lying. He’s stalling. He should be arrested!”

Edozien offered, quite calm and aloof,
“Just look in my bags if you need some proof.
Behind the third slat of the second peach crate
you’ll find all my savings. Go fetch them now, mate.”

The skeptic dashed off to prove his friend wrong …
but, instead found four bags - three short and one long.
“The long one’s for notes, you know like High-C
whose tails, in staccato, need more space to breathe.”

At this last pronouncement E.’s friends were distressed.
“Maybe old E.’s in need of a rest,”
one kindly mouse whispered, preceiving E.’s pain.

“Please open my bags; they’ll prove that I’m same.”
Edozien argued, “You’ve got to believe!
I am not a liar. No trick’s up my sleeve.”

Sour four of E.’s mates untied his four bags
(cleverly made from used twine and old rags).
And inside they found such brilliance that they
had to cover their mouse eyes and mouse ears half-way.

Edozien smiled then re-closed his store.
“I’ll save this for when we may need it more.”

So, dead in the middle of winter’s dark nights
E. shared his collection of colors and lights
and musical magic created from sounds
he’d saved while the others were searching the grounds
for food and provisions of bodily health.
Edoizien knew that God’s greatest wealth
was got through the senses and not through the belly
except in the case of apricot jelly.