the mice,
oh how the mice find
a way
to creep in on
soft feet,
their long soft tails,
their
quiet ways.
in from the cold
and hungry,
how they munch and chew
at the wood,
then enter
and eat.
they bring friends
of like ilk.
they eat too.
whispering among themselves,
with quiet
voices.
in time there is no
more angel hair
pasta
in the box, but what
a feast it was.
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