Sometimes if I’m listening,
Awfully still, no sounds at all,
I can hear the faintest ding,
Of tiny bells behind the wall.

It must be mice’s bicycles,
Of this I’m fairly certain.
The sound it makes is quite distinct,
Down behind the skirting.

It moves around from here to there,
Wherever the mice bikes go,
Perhaps demanding right of way,
Or just saying hello.

They ride around at oddest hours,
To hide the sounds, I s’pose.
They like when folk are having showers,
Or when the lawn-mower goes.

My family and friends think I’m crazy,
They can’t ever hear a thing.
But I know it’s mice, awheeling away,
When I hear that tiny ding-ding!

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