I know of a funny little man,
As quiet as is a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody’s house!
There’s no one ever seen his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr Nobody.

‘Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For, prithee, don’t you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We leave the blinds unclosed
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
That lying round you see
Are not our boots…they all belong
To Mr Nobody.

by
Anonymous