THE MAGIC MICE
When I was a little girl and gram would comb my hair,
I'd whine around and holler like a wounded grizzly bear.
Oh, dear, I'd twist and turn about until I'd hear gram say,
"Why here the little darlings are they're blue and pink today.
Then I'd stand so very quiet and I'd act so very nice,
While gram very patiently combed out different colored mice.
T'was when I'd go to sleep at night or so my grandma said,
That these wee mice from rainbow land would sneak into my bed.
They would make some teeny, tiny nests and sleep there safe and sound,
Amid my many corkscrew curls 'till morning came around.
"Oh, my! There goes a red one." Gram would say with such delight,
But I was never fast enough to catch one in my sight.
Now, Grandmas gone, God bless her and I've children of my own,
Three fine healthy boys they are, and two are almost grown.
Well, our youngest is named Sammy and just the other day,
I began to brush his hair when he came in from play.
He yelled and jumped around a bit and guess what I saw there?
A lonely, crinkled cracker jack stuck firmly to his hair.
"Ah, Ha," I said, "A wee pink mouse has picked you for his bed,
He has built a teeny, tiny nest to sleep in on your head.
Well he stood completely silent 'till his hair looked neat and nice,
And I shed a tear in memory of those psychedelic mice.
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