Sunday After Christmas

By Cheryl Ballek; 27 December 1998




Twas the Sunday after Christmas
and Cheryl sat down to write.
Her boys were not sleeping
but they were tucked in tight.

They kept talking and laughing
dispite repeated threats.
They are sure to get a beating
if they continue being brats.

John was downstairs watching tv
and resting his head.
The puppys were all nursing
and glad to be fed.

When what to my wondering eyes
should appear
but Levi and Francis
in their under wear.

"Go to bed" I exclaimed.
"No more talking" I said.
"No more water!" I yelled
as my face turned bright red.

Then David began begging
to sit on my lap.
He's very tired you see,
and should also take a nap.

And then from the bedroom,
there arose such a clatter
I sprang to my feet to see
what was the matter.

The boys were all wrestling
and yelling you see...
So I patiently took them
all over my knee.

David is nursing
and plays with his toes.
Levi is restless
and scratches his nose.

Francis is quiet
hopefully asleep.
Matt's awake still
but won't make a peep.

They seem to be resting
more quietly now.
So I guess I should try
to end this poem some how.

John has come up now
The news cast is done.
We don't believe in Chrismas
but this sure has been fun!

But you'll hear me exclaim
as I sign off for the night
Why must bed time always
have to be such a fight?


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