The Naughty Day

A poem by Fay Inchfawn

I've had a naughty day to-day.
I scrunched a biscuit in my hair,
And dipped my feeder in the milk,
And spread my rusk upon a chair.

When mother put me in my bath,
I tossed the water all about,
And popped the soap upon my head,
And threw the sponge and flannel out.

I wouldn't let her put my hand
Inside the arm-hole of my vest;
I held the sleeve until she said
I really never SHOULD be dressed.

And while she made the beds, I found
Her tidy, and took out the hairs;
And then I got the water-can
And tipped it headlong down the stairs.

I crawled along the kitchen floor,
And got some coal out of the box,
And drew black pictures on the walls,
And wiped my fingers on my socks.

Oh, this HAS been a naughty day!
That's why they've put me off to bed.
"He CAN'T get into mischief there,
Perhaps we'll have some peace," they said.

They put the net across my cot,
Or else downstairs again I'd creep.
But, see, I'll suck the counterpane
To PULP before I go to sleep!

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