Tuesday, 12 February 2008

A poem

The Mischievous Imp

I am a mischievous rhymin' imp,
I live inside a tree,
I creep about when all is dark,
And no one catches me.

Sitting on my little hill,
I weave my sordid verse,
While elves and pixies toil away,
They think me quite perverse.

Some say I'm ugly, small and cruel,
A nasty little critter,
But when I dream my funny dreams
I roll around and titter.

I had a dream the other night,
I dreamt I was a cat,
I trotted out into the road,
And a car ran over me, splat!

My rhymin' mind is slick and sharp,
Just like my pointy ears,
I'm a witty little will-o-the-wisp,
A genius my dears.

Sometimes I turn into a frog,
And other times a rat,
I hide in one old woman's bed
And frighten the old bat.

I bang on doors and steal pets,
The vicar's dog, God bless,
I sit it by the old church door
Until it makes a mess.

I pretend I am a jar of jam,
A-sitting on the shelf,
I watch the people come and go,
Then try to eat myself.

Its a funny life, a rhymin' imp,
But one you cannot beat,
Theres tales to tell and tricks to play,
And lots of worms to eat.

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