Le souricate a l’âme délicate,
Le museau fin, le pelage soyeux.
Vif, il s’épouille en agitant la patte,
Puis avec tact croque un pou délicieux.
Après avoir dégusté un scorpion,
Monsieur sautille et dansotte au soleil,
Et, se dressant tout droit sur son croupion,
Il ouvre l’œil, observe et tend l’oreille...
Car si l’aigle avaleur de souricate
Profile une aile noire à l’horizon,
Hop, le souricate, il se carapate
Et file droit au fond de sa maison.
Moralité
Ah, qu’on est bien dans ses pénates,
Ah, qu’on est bien dans sa maison,
Soupire alors le souricate
Et chacun voit qu’il a raison.
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