By Josie Whitehead

When I was but a little girl

    My mother read to me

A poem about a funny man

    Called Mr Nobody.


So did this man really exist

    And do such awful things?

Oh yes, he’s known by many folk,

    Both simple folk and kings.


Poor soul, he cannot answer back

    And always takes the blame.

He’s one who can’t defend himself

     Now isn’t that a shame?


When things go missing, things go wrong,

    When mud’s left on the floor;

When something’s broken, or upset -  -

    Oh yes, and there’s much more:


When milk is spilt, a chair is broken,

    Your school books disappear;

When your shirt is oh so badly torn

    And stains on clothes appear . . .


Well, things much worse than all of these

    Can drive you to despair,

And you know who will get the blame -

     Well is that REALLY fair?



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