, , , , ,

Once there lived an alchemist in a strange and distant land.
So wise and famous and revered; great power he did command.
For he could turn base metal in a flash to solid gold,
And so the alchemist grew rich as he in years grew old.

The alchemist had riches, but a mortal man was he,
And came unto his house one day, a gypsy to foresee
His fortune with a crystal ball that showed his time was nigh,
So he, a magic potion made; his own death to defy.

And when this drink to give him immortality was made,
He took the potion to his lips, but then his hand he stayed,
For there his pet, a small brown mouse, was sitting on his knee;
He gave the mouse a sip and waited, the effect to see.

The time it passed, the mouse it thrived, so then he drank the brew.
Now safe from death, his fame increased, and so his fortune grew.
And so the years went by, he didn’t age, always was well.
He and the mouse lived on, and to them nothing bad befell.

The centuries rolled on, his friends and relatives were dead.
In time the human race was gone as onward time it sped,
But even Earth is mortal, and at last the Sun grew tired;
The Earth became a cold dark rock, its spirit had expired.

And all was black, for only feeble starlight pricked the sky,
And silence reigned for there were only two who didn’t die.
There gazing out to space, the last two tenants of the house:
A sad and lonely man, and by his side, an ancient mouse.