In a field where the grass grew tall,
Lived a mouse with dreams not small.
He found a golf ball, white and round,
And thought, "What treasures might be found?"
He gnawed and carved with tiny might,
Shaping the ball through day and night.
A little boat began to take form,
To brave the seas, to weather the storm.
With a twig for a mast, a leaf for a sail,
The mouse set off, bold and pale.
He sailed the puddles, the ponds, and streams,
Chasing the ripples of his wildest dreams.