Imp

by Rod Stone

HE won't go to bed 'til well past eleven
But he still gets me out of bed before seven
Won't put on his socks, his boots or his clothes
Until after ''Pingu'' and ''Tellie Tubbies'' shows.
Won't brush his teeth; does nothing but tempt
Oh my little angel's turned into an imp.

When he was born, he was cuddly and cute
With cherubic cheeks and lips like a lute
But these charms so sweet are not anymore
His melodious voice has turned into a roar
And when he makes faces, he looks like a chimp
Oh my little angel's turned into an imp.

He doesn't do one single thing that I say
What malevolent spirit makes him disobey?
He throws things around and breaks all his toys
I guess that's the way when babies are boys.
He's bonked me so hard, I walk with a limp
Oh my little angel's turned into an imp.

He gives me no rest when he's in the house.
I must read him stories about Tippu the mouse.
Such exquisite torture has brought me to tears;
They would be all gray if I had any hairs.
My world is untidy, my appearance unkempt.
Oh my little angel's turned into an imp.

For sure he's a monster with big hairy feet
Just like these contraptions on Sesame Street
I'm harassed and hamstrung; hard is my lot
But still I do love him, he's all that I've got
My critter, my gremlin, my terrible scrimp.
Oh my little angel's turned into an imp.

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