baby mouse



“Who is my favorite Little Girl?
Are you ready for a story?”



Niblosh was a mouse.

He lived underneath our house.

Behind our rosebush

Niblosh met his friends.

They talked of all odds and ends

‘Neath the high crow’s tush.


Bumba was a bee

She, in camaraderie,

Told the latest buzz

To Niblosh, saying,

“You won’t want to be staying.”

Niblosh asked, “Because?”


“Because,” Bumba hummed,

“You are going to be bummed.”

Niblosh begged, “Please, say!”

Bumba then complied,

“Little Girl who lives inside…”

“Has to go away…”


“From me?!” Niblosh wept,

“Cookie crumbs were all I kept.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“Little Girl loves me!”

Bumba asked, “Does she really…?”

“…A love is lifelong….”


“Little Girls grow old.”

“Then your name will be untold.”

Niblosh cried out, “No!”

Bumba said, “No tears!”

“You will count days, months, then years.”

“Now will be ago.”


Little Girl came by.

Bumba said, “I’ve got to fly.”

Little Girl called out,

“Niblosh, can you hear?”

“I have to tell you that…we’re,…”

“…now please do not pout,…”


“…Leaving from this place.”

“Don’t have a sad face.”


And so Niblosh squeaked

And up the rosebush he streaked

To Little Girl’s view.


He jumped in her purse

For better not for the worse

To find she loved him.

But please don’t bother

To repeat unto Father

Her innocent whim.



“Yes, my favorite Little Girl, I know this tale should be true.
My imaginary daughter, so too should you.”








3 thoughts on “NIBLOSH

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