The Adventures ofAmos

Young Amos was a church mouse small,

Who lived behind the chapel wall.

He wasn't like the other mice,

Who nibbled crumbs and weren't too nice.

They'd steal the bread, they'd chase their tails,

They'd hide from cats and dusty pails.

But Amos, with tiny ear,

Loved melodies he'd always hear.

When Sunday came, the choir would sing,

Of heavenly joys and everything.

And Amos, from his dark little nook,

Would listen quite absorbed and look…

Not with his eyes, but with his soul,

As high notes soared beyond control.

He'd tap his paw, a rhythmic beat,

And shuffle his two little feet.

One day a hymn so grand and bold,

An Ancient Story often told,

Helped Amos to forget his fear,

It touched his heart, he shed a tear.

He opened up his tiny snout,

And what came out? A squeaky shout!

Not just a squeak, or simple peep,

But harmonies, both soft and deep!

The tenor sang, the alto hummed,

And Amos, his whiskers drummed,

A perfect pitch, a tiny trill,

That echoed through the soothing drill.

The pianist, a man named Pete,

Felt something odd, both sharp and sweet.

"Is that a new soprano's grace?

Or an angel in this holy place?"

The Choirmaster, a man named Jung

Sensed a tiny voice, as they sung.

He looked around, with puzzled stare,

But saw no new face standing there.

Just thirty singers, old and true,

And Amos, invisible to view.

So if you're in that church one day,

And hear a high note float away,

A heavenly whisper, pure and bright,

It's Amos, with all his might,

Singing praises, small and grand,

The smallest tenor in the land!