(A prompt, I think from The Poetry Society, about childhood)
Don’t sit on the Chairs!
Mother was a stickler for tidiness
But children are not meant for that
She would upturn the cushions on chairs,
the settee as well, come to that.
But she did give us sheets for our tent house
Which we draped over seats not in use
And would run round the dining room table
Whenever we got to get loose.
We climbed on the arms of the furniture
Careful to not make much noise
But it’s difficult when you are playing
An Indian shooting cowboys.
When I think what my settee has suffered
With gymnastics and such from my boys
I wonder if Mother had something
About cushions not being toys!
(Tomorrow I will be posting the remainder of April's poems all together because I will probably not be able to get to a computer after tomorrow. It means that I can complete the challenge in advance!)