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.