In bony paws. The Kingdom of Streams

The wave canoodled the shore.
The flute was laying on
the slimy greyish stones.
Annoying gusts of breeze
pervaded hollow pith,
producing mournful sounds.

A huge discoloured rat,
which searched a midday snack
on this deserted shore,
had heard the wistful wail.
It looked behind its tail
and noticed the wail source.

The rat picked up the flute.
It brought the carven loot
to old grey sneaky chums.
They finished a small feast
There were just few wrinkle beans
on their leaky plaque.

One rat took the thin pipe
and started playing nice.
The melody filled up
a crampy ground shack.
The rates started to dance.
The beans grew on the plaque.

Old rats had noticed shoots
and their heavy mood
had risen. They went on fields.
The shoots were planted in
cold ground. The high whistle
was spreading from flute’s pith.

The chums stayed waiting crops,
but there was just hard loss
because of frosty night.
No matter how long was
the song. The thin green sprouts
didn’t give desired buds.

That night had burnt with frost
the beans’ fragile green growths.
The last rats’ finite meal.
The chums were too annoyed.
They didn’t dare to broke
the flute. It had been kicked…

                by Thea Ariss               
                14.10.2024