The dormouse runs far,
As he knows he'll find some cheese
in the big, bad world.
Monster sets the trap,
with envy and rage inside,
He's born to deny.
The grass must be clear,
the dormouse carries no weight
so he has the faith.
YOU ARE READING
The Confessions of a 90's Kid
Poetry"Words are weapons: for warriors, for war heroes, for worrying teenagers and therefore for me."
