Mouse is mice, fostering human grandness by being small and lost from all purview. Mice like to mention things, wild, innate, cramped, constitutional things. They are small, like the wren with sherry left in the boilerplate. Mice make manyness, mostly from crumbs of the echelon. How human, with their little peeps impressing smaller to your world view. The single mouse you see in sooth becomes a throng, all curious and mitigating, as if life could be lived like that. Mouse has eyes that look like singular eyes, tho vision transplants in equable doubt. Mouse runs furrows thru snow with homing precision. You cannot share a castle or good tidings but let mouse invade the tablature. The sky seems just as great and greeting for the mouse as for you, but you know better.
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