An experiment: A standard rhyme scheme
with no regular line length or meter.
It’s a standard of so many fantasy tales:
A valiant mouse with rapier wit
Discovers an actual rapier
And fights for the animals’ benefit.
It’s just his size, of course.
With it, he goes out righting wrongs
And becomes a mighty hero,
Worshipped by all the animal throngs.
I always wonder who made them,
These tiny toothpick swords
That armed not only the hero mouse
But also the evil enemy hordes.
Was there once a society
Of incredibly talented mouse smiths
Who forged the magic blades
That became the focus of mouse myths?
Where are all the little mouse smithies
With little mouse anvils and little mouse torches?
What happened to all the little mouse guilds
Where mice trained to run those little mouse forges?
What happened to the thriving trade
That made it profitable to forge the things?
And why only swords? Why not axes
Or maces or other simpler weapons to swing?
But worst of all, how could they forget
All the far-ranging battles
That made it necessary to forge
So many bucklers to rattle?
A whole society lost without a trace,
Leaving only skeptic mice in its wake.
The logic behind it makes no sense…
Yet some mouse found a sword. It makes my head ache.