You little whirlwind, gale force blast, tempest. From room to room you pass, you perfect pest And leave behind a vast and horrific mess. Your toys are strewn, all blown apart, headless Barbies and Kens, a truck, a soldier lame, a plane, a stuffed cat, all victims of your game. The telly’s broken, the dog is wet, the fish tank Is cracked, mud, how mud? you nature’s prank The garden soil's indoors. But now you sleep, An angel’s rest, soft breath, lips fluted, deep, No dreams, no plan or thought of mischief, regret. You stir, little fingers twitch, but no, all’s quiet, You slumber on, now’s time to clean, to make All fit to wreck, sweetheart, for when you wake.