In October of 1980, while hitchhiking across Canada, Neville and I elected to seek refuge from the cold by spending the night in a grain elevator. The nights in Saskatchewan were very brisk, the grain elevator looked warm and inviting. But in the pitch dark, trying to sleep, we could hear the sound of scratching and scurrying all around us. By grabbing a handful of grain and heaving it all around, the scurrying would briefly cease. This continued until we both nodded off to sleep.

In the morning, though refreshed, Neville discovered that the feather in the band of his prized Arizona Cowboy hat had all but disappeared. This poem speculates on what may have occurred while we snoozed.

In the heart of autumn’s chill, two weary men seek solace.

Within the grain elevator, finding warmth, they’re blessed.

But we mice, snug in our home, hunger gnaws, we must confess,

For these travelers bring temptation, our hunger they’ll test.

Their packs hold treasures sweet, a feast for us to find,

But we must stand strong, resist, leave no grain behind.

Though our tummies ache, with each tempting scent we pine,

Our home is not for their slumber, we must draw a line.

So, fellow mice unite, let’s gather our might,

We’ll squeak and scamper, through the shadows of the night.

With determination in our eyes, we’ll offer quite the fright,

For this silo is ours, we’ll defend it with all our might!

In the morning light’s soft glow, when travelers rise from rest,

They’ll find their Stetson disturbed, missing its crowning plume.

For though we mice are small, our revenge will manifest,

With one last mischievous nibble, the crowning feather we consume.

Cheers, nca