by Gary Maclean

Created on: April 19, 2008   Last Updated: February 10, 2012

I slink low across the room
Slowly I pull my cloak tight
I stop dead in my tracks
As I peruse my plight

My thoughts are all black
My intentions are wrong
I expect anguish and pain
But it shouldn't last long

I continue my trek
Through the dark halls I roam
I've been here before
Of course, it's my home

I search for the tools
Of my dastardly trade
I find one, then two
I am ready for my tirade

It's late and it's dark
The clock strikes a three
This is my surprise, my gift
To those who mock me

I'm not to be trifled with
I'm wicked to the core
I deliver pain and agony
Never spent, always more

I stoop to my task
Take the tool from my hand
Place the lure on the trip
Then set it as planned

I stand in approval
Then I turn to wait
I hear the ominous snap
Yes, he has taken the bait!

Quickly I stoop
To see once again a taunt
"Thanks for the cheese"
That wicked mouse does flaunt!

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