f 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.