Once upon a midnight trample, while I cooked for family so ample,
One dozen I wish, two dozen it is.
With the stirring spoon sitting in my palm, I stared at the scorching soup,
A sudden sonorus stomp approached my ear, I so fastly disappear.
“Tis my husband” I whispered to myself, “flattening the meat --
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, but I slowly grew wary - “Tis the mating season for the ravens,”
And the knocking stood on my rooftop as the birds called their mates.
Behind I was in cooking, will this trample ever stop?
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
Frustrated and embittered, hoping ‘twas only the ravens,
The stomping lingered evermore
For I clambered up to the attic, ‘tis the noise - emphatic
Thundering and stomping louder every step of the ladder
Shoes were being thrown, more precisely, heels
I was resurgent and in relief --
‘Twas my child! My lovely little girl!
But, oh, how she will be castigated for playing with my shoes!
Only my little girl passionate for shoes and nothing more.