Of all the weekly chores I do
 There's only one I dread—
To change the blankets and the sheets
 On my son Billy's bed.

The task itself is not too hard
 And I've the time to spare,
But I'm afraid to strip his bed
 And what I'll find in there.

At times I've found assorted bugs,
 Some snails and dragonflies,
A rusty nail, a lizard's tail,
 And something with three eyes.

Let's not forget the bag of worms
 Or moldy birthday cake,
And neighbors still recall my scream
 The day I found the snake.

So now I stand out in the hall
 Just staring at his bed;
Y'know, his sheets look clean from here...
 I'll come next week instead.