The old grey siamese
chases the mouse that chomps on the cheese,
chaws with his gum, his teeth now long gone,
chews on its tail; the mouse thinks it's fun.
For the old grey tom's lost a whisker or ten
and the old grey mouse can't remember back when
this wasn't a game but a chase to the end.
Now each day's a new day
as their bones have grown old
as the cat moves in slo-mo
and the ratling's grown bold
and they chomp and they chase
and they play and they roll
and they chaw and they chew
while the cheese blues with mold.
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