Poem in my pocket

Guinea pig
Anonymous
There was a little guinea pig,
Who being little, was not big;
He always walked upon his feet,
And never fasted when he eat.

When from a place he run away,
He never at the place did stay;
And while he run, as I am told,
He never stood still for young or old.

He often squeaked, and sometimes violent,
And when he squeaked he never was silent.
Though never instructed by a cat,
He knew a mouse was not a rat.

One day, as I am certified,
He took a whim, and fairly died;
And as I am told by men of sense,
He never has been living since.