And it cam to passe, in the days of olde, that a smalle creature, a hamster by kinde, did dwell within a humble cage.
His furre was soft as the morning mist, and his eyes, dark as the midnight sky, shone with a melancholie none could fathom.
Forsooth, the hamster was named Hamleth, and he was known among men for his great sorrowe, which weighed upon his tiny heart as a heavy stone.
And Hamleth did gaze unto the heavens, saying, “Why hath thou, O Maker of Beastes, made me thus, to dwell in solitude with no companie save mine own shadowe?”
His food, though plentifull, brought him no joye; nor did the wheel, which spun evermore, bring unto him mirth.
Many a night did Hamleth gaze through the bars of his cage, yearning for the greene fields and open skies he had never known.
But as the days waxed and waned, his strength began to falter, for the weight of his sorrowe was too great for so smalle a creature to beare.
And on a cold and silent eve, as the moon hung low in the heavens, Hamleth lay upon his bed of straw, his tiny eyes closing.
With his last breath, he whispered unto the void, “If thou hear’st me, O Maker, grant that my soul may know the freedom my body hath not.”
And so it was, that Hamleth, the sorrowful, passed from this world, his cage left empty, save for the echo of a life unlived.
And the moon, in her mournful vigil, cast her light upon him one last time, as if to weep for the little soul who dreamt of skies he could never reach.