My Sundays

‘Twas  on a Sunday,

In the bright month of May,

I woke up at nine

And felt rather fine

I put in my bag

Which looked like a rag

Kittens and muffins and blueberry scones

Pencils and sharpeners and scaly pine cones

Wombats and fairies and lilies and squirrels

Sun drops and maggots and shiny icicles

All of a sudden my mummy was there

All of a sudden my daddy got a scare

All of a sudden  I wanted to run

Out in the rain or out in the sun

But now on a Sunday

In the month that is May

I sit in the house

Quiet like a mouse

I eat my crisps and munch my books

Never mind the mites who give me looks.

Acknowledgments: Ken Nesbitt and Dipanwita Shome