Poem:The Last Roundup.
The Last Roundup.
.
Our Mary is a nuisance
Always lying on the floor,
She spreads out all her comics,
Drops her crumbly bits…and more.
She leaves her socks and pens and combs
Her paper and her clothes,
She sometimes leaves an outline
Showing clear, where she arose.
I hate her ‘cos she’s messy
She has really got to go.
I’ll invent a giant hoover
And remove her.
.
.
