Mummy says I’m messy.
I explain I’m not.
My things you’ll find, in the place
Exactly where they’re dropped!
Papers not in order
Are a puzzle to be solved,
And clothes piled, in a big heap
Is a system yet to evolve!
My bed is rarely ever made
In an ‘exhausting’ effort, to time save;
And dust gathers, on the sides
To stop it scattering, if it’s wiped!
My toys lie, on the ground
So there’s no need, to get them out,
And books stay open, on the page
So I won’t ever, lose my place!
But Mummy still, says I’m messy;
I’ve begun to think, she’s kind of fussy.
I’d written a letter, to tell her my mind…
Please tell me if it, you manage to find!
©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address
https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2018/11/18/whos-messy-whos-fussypoem-2/
