A little, old mouse built a house of straw,
and she looked at the house and she thought,
"Ah-ha!"
For a house of straw is well and good,
"But not so nice as a house of wood."
So a pile of sticks she brought together.
She ran under tree and down under heather,
'till at last she thought, "That'll do the trick,
there's nothing so nice as a house of stick."
That's as she said but deep inside,
she thought to herself, "Have I been unwise?
For a house of sticks can get quite cold,
and you know little mouse you are getting quite old."
So she thought to herself, "Well bless my bones,
no house is warmer than is built with stones."
But a house of stone she alone couldn't make,
and she feared that her ag'ed tale might break.
Now the little, old mouse thought by and by,
"I shall ask my own kin who lives under sky,
'Dearest son can you help a mouse so old,
and build her a house so she's safe from the cold?'"
Now her young son he had no home,
but he shared what he had and was never alone,
and no creeping cold reached his strong bones
although he never had a house of stone.
There he sat in a pleasant green field
and before him mirthful laughter peeled.
Twelve little children ran around,
and their shrill little cries made a joyful sound.
His young wife was a pretty, little thing,
and all around the field you could hear her sing.
The company laughed and clapped their hands
and together they made a little marching band.
Now the little, old mouse didn't like much noise,
especially in a family of excited little boys,
but she plucked up her courage and walked towards the mouse,
and asked if he could build her a nice, stone house.
So he set to work with a chisel and bit
and he measured the stones so they each would fit.
Yes the house he thought would be mighty grand
as he laid each brick with his swift, little hand.
And as it grew that house he made,
the little, old mouse squeezed fresh lemonade.
'Twas just the thing for tiny, young mice
and the children thought it was very nice.
They played together as the day grew long
and the children asked if she'd sing a song.
The little, old mouse played a little, old harp,
and told them a tale of a sweet, singing lark.
As each day passed under clear blue sky
her young son thought by and by,
"Upon the ground we have made our home,
but maybe 'twould be better in a house of stone."
And when at last the house was done,
and each little stone laid one by one,
the little, old mouse said, "That's my home!
Though a pity I should live there all alone."
Well the little, old mouse doesn't live alone,
for her family lives in that house of stone.
And though there are nights where the weather is freezing,
she's never felt cold with her family in the evening.
That little mouse lived a long, happy life,
and that is the tale,
no
more.
Good
Night.
