Hilaire Belloc's Mice

Poem By Richard George

His son died in the war:
his beard grew unkempt
like the High Chamberlain's
('The kindest and the best of men')
in Cautionary Tales he wrote for children.

And as he combed the past
there surfaced, from some ocean's depths
the fear of poverty:
he slumped from company,
bread for an emergency stowed away

in his pockets. But the house mice
scuttled up his legs in joy
'That Providence should deign to find
Them food of this delicious kind':
he didn't notice, or he didn't mind.

Comments about Hilaire Belloc's Mice

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
2 total ratings

Other poems of GEORGE

Eclipse: A Haiku Sequence

Imperceptible
at first, sunlight changing; then
dusky, or faded,

A Walking Sadness

The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,

Halcyon And After

It was May or June, I met you:


Business, something or other.

Sylvia Plath's Cats

Their breath was clean, or harsh and sour
according to her moods:
and when they sensed a coming storm
they crept into corners.

Marie Celeste

Now I may never see you again
I can think of no one else:
I wait on platforms, hair in the wind
But trains all leave the past

7/7: Before And After

The dark young man
with the curls of the Maghreb
is in an altercation
with the ghost