Beatrice Butter

When Mary slept
she heard one who crept
up onto her xylophone.

She wondered, “who’s there,”
as the breeze tickled her hair
of which she forgot to comb.

“Who could it be,
tapping the keys,
so late in my parent’s house?”

It was none other
than Beatrice Butter
the midnight hour mouse.

Beatrice would hide
stuffed inside
Mary’s bag of sticks,

there she would stay
’til Mary hit the hay
and then came her sneaky tricks.

Out of the bag
and up the frame
she traveled at the speed of a train.

She started on F
and finished on C
then climbed up to the bar
with a flat on the B.

She made her way down
tip-toeing around
the bars with sharps & flats,

when she came to a space
she sped up her pace
as if she were running from cats.

She then would hop
across the top
careful not to miss her mark,

but tonight in the dark
between D & F-sharp
the tinkling gave way to a bark.

Mary opened her eyes wide
and stayed inside
the blankets on her bed,

she looked around
and nothing was found
so she pulled them over her head.

Where was Beatrice
last name Butter,
like the kind used on toast?

She was a part
of Mary’s dreams
(or else she was a ghost).