The mouse, in a swinging bed,
Hanging from a poppy thread, 
On his snout he's s’eeping deep
He is a sailor in his s’eep. 

Holds the rudder, keeps the way
Tied to it by strings, to stay.
There comes a storm on the sea, hey,
He's afraid to be swept away.

Suddenly, he turns around 
With a worried kind of sound:
- Help me, help me, oh, My Lord,
The ship leaned deep on a board!

A sparrow wakes him with a cheep:
 - Oh, I'm not on the leaned ship?
He sees the grass translucent, green, 
Dandelions' foam around him…