©2003 Harvey H. Warwick III

Hickory Dickory Dock
The mouse would run up the clock
The clock would strike one
And home he would run
Hickory Dickory Dock.
Hickory Dickory Dock
Was no chip off the old block
For he was last place
In that old rat race
On last place, he had a lock.
He wondered what he could do
To change his lot in life through
Some form of self-help
Like, eating some kelp
Or something else he could chew;
For he thought he could have led
A better life were he fed
A better diet,
And he would try it
If it would help clear his head.
For he worked day after day
Quietly chewing away
At a hole above
The little alcove
By the clock in the hallway.
Chewing a hold in the wall
Did not taste too good at all;
It's not nutritious
Much less delicious
And he was sick of it all.
Ev'ry day at one o'clock
The mice would all leave the block
(That's what they would call
The part of the hall
That was behind the old clock)
And the next morning at five
The mice would once more arrive
To report for work
Starting with the clerk
For he had the shortest drive.
And this dull daily routine
Was all that he'd ever seen
And he wanted more
That he could live for;
About that, he was quite keen.
He said goodbye to his hole
For he had found a new goal
And went on a trip
To find him some dip
To go with the chips he stole.
For he had found a whole bag
Of chips, which he had to drag
One chip at a time
And afterwards, climb
In his hole without a snag.
He left the hallway behind
And he went searching to find
Somewhere that had food
And this he pursued
Seeking food of any kind.
He scurried along the floor
Following after the spoor
Of savory food
Which bettered his mood
As he drew near to a door.
Beyond that door was a smell
That even a mouse could tell
Was a sign of food
And it smelled real good:
Where it was, he couldn't tell.
But not one door in that house
Was made for use by a mouse.
The knobs were too high
For a mouse to try
To open doors in that house
So he looked 'round for a way
To squeeze on through the doorway
And he found a space
In a hidden place
Underneath where the door lay.
He squeezed himself through that crack
As he searched to find a snack;
He looked all around
Until he then found
What he wanted to bring back.
High on a shelf was a bowl
Filled with some fresh guacamóle
A savory dip With plenty of zip
To go with the chips he stole.
But how to bring this bowl back
Was his next task to attack,
Or else, get a chip
On up to the dip
So he could enjoy a snack.
But it was too high to bring
The bowl, or most anything
Back on down below
And he couldn't tow
It, even if he'd had string.
Nor could he open the door
To drag his chips back once more
So he looked around
Then up, and then down
And he began to explore.
A bag of apples he found
Sitting right down on the ground.
He scrambled on top
And from there, could hop
Up to the next place he found.
Near to the bag hung a cord
Which he thought should be explored.
The cord he could climb
In near-record time
Right up into the cupboard.
Up in the cupboard he found
Food could be had by the pound:
He stuffed his small hide
Until, from the side,
He began to look quite round.
He took himself a long nap
Resting his paws on his lap
Until a loud belch
Which he did not squelch
Woke him right up with a snap.
He then remembered his quest
To look for something with zest
And thought of the bowl
Of fresh guacamóle
Which he liked more than the rest.
He found a just-opened pack
Of some new crunchy corn snack.
He pulled out one chip
To put in the dip
And hoisted it on his back.
He made his way to the shelf
Sneaking like some little elf
Right up to the bowl
Of fresh guacamóle
Shaking, in spite of himself.
At last, he feasted his eyes
Upon his long-sought-for prize
And readied his chip
To plunge in the dip;
Instead, he got a surprise.
For the dip was made quite hot
With peppers and all that lot.
When he took a bite
He jumped back in fright
And near passed out on the spot.
The spicy fumes from the dip
Suddenly filled him with zip
And he made a dash
To find him a splash
Of juice, to cool his burnt lip.
The cupboard held not a drop
Of anything that would stop
His burning feeling.
It left him reeling:
He could find no soda pop.
The closest place was the sink
Which offered something to drink.
It was a long trip
But he had the zip
And he was there in a wink.
He dived down into the sink
Which was filled up to the brink
With cool clear water
And, like an otter,
He swam while taking a drink.
Then he climbed out on the side
Of the sink, drenched to the hide.
His mouth was now cool
Though he felt a fool
For he got cold while he dried.
He wondered when, why, and how
And if he should go home now,
For he'd had enough
Of looking for stuff:
This was all he would allow.
But if he went home to stay
Working his five-to-one day
He'd not have a chance
To get out and dance
Or to go outside and play.
For he had found what he'd sought:
Something that could not be bought.
Some satisfaction
Came from his action;
It had not all been for naught.
He simply needed a break.
Working hard was a mistake
Without taking time For something sublime;
That's what he'd wanted to take.
He went back home to his hole
But set himself a new goal:
To take off a day
From work, to go play
Once ev'ry week, on the whole.
Hickory Dickory Dock
No longer lived by the clock;
He went back to work
But with a new perk
And now walked home from the block.
Now, on the weekends he goes
Off to a place that he knows
And what he does there
He'd rather not share
But when he comes back, he glows.