The little mouse smiled about,
While around him the animals rushed,
Their dream, their homes,
All lay in ruins.
A horrid disease had arrived,
Put paid to their warm cooings.
‘How is it you smile,
When the world around you crumbles?’
The warthog said, grumbling,
To the mouse,
Who kept a-smiling.
‘The future seems bleak,
And the road ahead black and grey.
But I dream in technicolor,
It helps keep the blues at bay!’