He was born a mouse, but dreams himself as a bird.
He tries to come up with a beak, to flap its paws in order to fly, to sing like that magpie, to walk on two legs like this wading bird,
but nothing works. He was born a mooseling, not a bird. Until one day, he gathers feathers in the wind and tells the whole word that with those, he may well become a bird.  

All this hustle attracts a prey bird flying nearby, who delicately swoops the mousekin in the skies. And our mousekin is finally as happy as a clam to be flying high, so high, thanks to the prey bird. 

A happy ending for the optimistic young readers. And by the way, are old pessimistic readers always right? Mousekin or not, one is always allowed to dream. 

A book to be read from top to bottom, at the height of a mouse dreaming to become a bird.