A harvest mouse way up high in a field of golden rye.

Distantly he heard a noise and swiftly moved with graceful poise.

The ground did rumble, rattle and quiver as approaching fast it made him shiver.

Then came this giant with teeth of steel, it would not stop it puffed and squealed.

Lashing wildly and spewing grains, the poppies bowed their heads in vain.

Gyrating relentlessly all day through it devoured the crops till night ensued.

With peace restored that russet mouse once more came to find his house.

But sad to say could not be found just an expanse of barren ground.