Not Cinderella’s Mouse

Little mouse squeaking through the hall Gathering crumbs to spread around at cold heavens ball.

Scurrying side,to side,

unveiled no where to hide-

Hidden faces it tries to disguise

Off the square intellects now compromised.

A critic could surmise, perhaps it’s a lie

Perhaps,you speak but rather words had died.

If, a stallion is to stable

Then, Words from critics mouth is like a mere fable.

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