Mr. Nobody (poet unknown)

I know a funny little man,
   As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
   In everybody’s house!

There’s no one ever sees his face,
   And yet we all agree
That every plate we break is cracked
   By Mr. Nobody.

‘Tis he who always tears our books,
   Who leaves our doors ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our clothes,
   And scatters pins afar;

That squeaking door will always squeak,
   For prithee, don’t you see?—
We leave the oiling to be done
   By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire
   That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
   And all the carpets soil.

The papers always are mislaid;
   Who had them last but he?
There’s no one tosses them about
   But Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door
   By none of us are made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
   To let the curtains fade.

The ink we never spill; the boots
   That lying round you see
are not our boots; they all belong
   To Mr. Nobody.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s