Tiny Fashionista

In a world no larger than a teacup,
dwelled an artisan with eyes that beamed like the North Star,
A tiny rodent, with a whiskered chin, and a pressing iron in one paw,
his name, Anselm, the little tailor of the broom cupboard.

A revered designer, all of two inches tall,
specialized in artistic woolen creations, not one size fits all.
No thread was so-called ‘butternut,’ to this mouse who sewed –
only ‘dusk kissed marigold’ or maybe ‘morning sun Bode.’

The trousers he crafted, snug as second skin,
were speckled with dew-like pearls, from a midnight ocean’s whim,
His jackets – micro patterns, tailored for clientele,
who squeaked around with such elan, it became the latest swell.

A ladybird might don ruby red and obsidian black gown,
strutting her stuff past emerald leaves, as the insects purred, “Wow!”
‘Bug-ingham Palace!’ they’d exclaim, with their antennae aglow,
for spotted skirts, sequined silk, made the forest bloom and crow.

Every stitch a story told, ‘twixt humor and haute couture,
‘nature seasonal showcases,’ claiming every reporter’s fervor.
His collection ‘A leaf like my Heart,’ earned tears on petals,
jeweled dewdrops on thorny runways, nature’s grateful medals.

And Anselm, the humble tiny tailor, would blush behind his tape,
prompting roars of laughter, at this adorable white cape.
In his ‘dusk kissed marigold,’ his needle dancing in delight,
the world a blurry catwalk lit by the incandescent moonlight.

Life spun so sweetly in that teacup’s curve, a tiny fashionista’s mirth,
where dainty beetles found couture dreams amidst the fragrant earth.
Yes, there once was a mouse named Anselm, a tailor of tiny tales,
who stitched laughter in every thread and made joy dance like veils.