Whiskered Serenaders

In twilight's hush, where shadows play, Three mice gather, instruments in array. With guitars cradled, they prepare to sing, Their music weaving a gentle, wistful ring. The one in blue, with shirt ajar, stands tall, His eyes closed, as if the melody enthralls. The central mouse, with red bandana bright, Leads the ensemble, his passion taking flight. The third, in green, with fingers on the strings, Completes the trio, their harmony that clings. Around them, sheets of music, scattered and worn, Tell tales of practice, of dreams born. In this moment, they are free, their spirits soar, As music bridges the gap between their world and more. Their whiskers twitch, their ears perk up with glee, As they lose themselves in harmony. The room, a backdrop, fades into the night, As their serenade fills the air, a gentle delight.