The lights were low.
The scene was laid.
Frankie with singing serenade;
The pillows were fluffed,
To cradle her head,
And she stretched the seriously luxuriously,
In her comfy bed:
When the time was right,
And always quiet.
She crept downstairs
Like a thief in the night;
She opened the door
Praying 'don't let its squeak,
Young Sonny's in bed fast asleep.'
Her torch shone bright;
Its beams showing all,
As it found its target against the wall;
The object stood out,
Like a beam or lighthouse.
As you crept toward it just like a mouse.
Insiders confines tucked safely away,
Was green plastic box
With a label to say:
"Broccoli and cabbage for tomorrow's tea;"
Knowing Sonny would ignore it
And never see.
The secret stash of chocolate;
Then she climbed the stairs
To a little nest:
And snuggle down for her night times rest;
She opened the box with her senses on edge:
No chocolate in sight!
Just a note that read
"Sorry grandma, you should have known,
You can't hide chocolate from an eight-year-old."

© Catherine Fair 2 July 2011