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…