Squeaking, crawling, knowing nothing true,
Mouse subsists, reacts, and lives to chew.
Scavenge, scurry, just an animal,
Sense the world, remain peripheral,
Never understanding old or new.

Till a bolt that strikes with searing blue
Cracks his mind, creates a thought or two,
Forces sight and pushes back banal
Squeaking, crawling.

Lost, he wanders, conjures up a slew:
Tangled notions, values, points of view.
Changed, he must conclude it's magical,
Everything phantasmagorial.
Better? Quite: his power means he's through
Squeaking, crawling...