Mischief thy name is a boy in a hat, Who could hang up anything crawling. A worm to him is but a challenge, And he can run behind it fast enough.
I love to see him running about, Or chasing circles with a tricycle, Making life miserable for those residing downstairs.
A flat is but too restrictive, To children who roam in space. But he will not think twice before, He slides down the hand rails here.
A mischief monger this my son, I have him hastily clad in a hat and a suit, So he can go pretend to be a robber, He has but robbed my heart till day.
He wants to be cuddled at all wrong times, Wants to be sleeping when waking will be fine for me. I hold this joy in my heart, I stroke him to sleep and he captures me, With his smile in sleep.
