~ MISCHIEVOUS TOYS ~
Every night when I'm off to bed
No sooner than I lay down my head
Do I detect the strangest noises,
The muffled sound of quiet talking.
I know so well those little voices
And the shuffling sounds of their walking.
Both Dolly and Golly come to life;
I don't doubt that they are full of strife.
They've shown that they are up to no good;
They cause trouble in Toy Neighborhood.
I wish they'd behave the way toys should
But poor Golly had a rough childhood.
They don't get along with Grouchy Smurf.
To them Greedy Smurf is very rude.
He tells jokes that are borderline crude.
They detest it when he makes a burp.
However, they respect Papa Smurf,
Particularly when on his turf.
I am sure he keeps them all in line;
They listen to him most of the time.
They adore Barbie's long, silky hair
But Ken's good looks they simply can't bare.
Mecki, the hedgehog, is their best friend.
His German friends they would not offend.
The point is they're not supposed to be
In the Toy Room at all, do you see?
But they choose to ignore our house rules
At night and when the kids are at school.
I know they go there since they're lonely;
They want to visit Little Pony.
They also love to play with the toys,
Especially those made for the boys.
Their place is at the head of my bed
Between the soft pillows for my head
Because I do need their company
When Hubby's away driving, you see.
His big tractor trailer makes money
To purchase food for our family.
Dolly and Golly help me to sleep
Much better than when I'm counting sheep.
I am sure they steal food from the fridge
To feed the troll under the toy bridge.
He was my son's best gift from Norway,
An old toy we will never throw away.
Sometimes I stir from my real deep sleep
And then I'm tempted to go and peep
But the toys deserve to do their thing.
I suspect they love to dance and sing.
I once heard music coming from there.
Would you believe that Golly would dare
To play my son's treasured old guitar,
The one we found in the hotel bar?
I know it was Golly; he's so loud.
Dolly wouldn't do that; she's too proud.
And, besides that, she is not a thief.
Wouldn't even steal a handkerchief.
But Golly can be awfully bad.
Sometimes he makes me terribly sad.
To think my boy is full of mischief
Gives me a headache and causes grief.
But I daren't part with either of them.
They'll stay with me as long as I live.
Be it the Toy Room or our son's den
To clear them out . . .
My son would NEVER forgive.
A/N I wish to dedicate this poem to stripey.
