Poor little Rosie - with ya lump on your side,
'tis as long as yer head, an' double as wide.
Sittin' in yer bowl, chewin' a chip an' a nut,
sittin' there pretty, 'spite a sick looken' gut.
Pretty, I guess, for a tatty ol' mouse,
a retired kids pet in ya posh little house.
Ya wheel's all squeeky, Rosie, I'm sorry 'bout that,
and sorry 'bout the night you were left locked with the cat.
The kids loved you dearly, I can tell you this Rose.
Don't know if you loved 'em much back, I suppose...
what with lego mazes and those damn trips to school,
don't worry, Rosie... we have a new rule.
"Sit quietly! Speak gently! Give her some peace!"
No more holding, no pockets... it all has to cease.
Our dear Rosie is old, she's some to her last.
Her busy pet duties have all come to past.
Ahhhhh, Rosie, isn't it lovely 'n' quiet?
Studio's a wonderful place late at night...
what with me an' my wool dyes 'n' my Merino fleeces
and you with your ladder and rice cracker pieces.
I notice you scurry and hide no more,
when I check your water and open your door...
A simple fondness, our quiet company...
we've a kind of kinship, Rose, haven't we...
I'm watching you now sitting so weary 'n' old,
I want to say something that each pet should be told...