Dodging logging trucks and pot holes,

Heading up to summer range,

When I noticed we had a passenger,

Although it seemed a little strange

Hunched down in the driving rain,

Hanging on as best he could,,

Was a tiny white footed field mouse,

Riding on the pick-up hood.

I don’t know how he got there,

I’m sure he didn’t plan this trip,

And at forty miles an hour,

I wondered how he kept his grip.

  I'll never know why Mister Mouse,

Got the sudden urge to to roam,

But I pulled over, and he jumped off,

At least twenty miles from home!

Mike Puhallo

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