In the dark of the night,

Not a sound you could hear;

I turned on the light,

Fearing there was something near.

What ever it was,

Wanted me not to know;

Had grown silent because,

I was moving, very slow.

Out of my bed,

Into the hall;

Bare feet softly tread,

Wondering if I should call.

“Who is it there?”

“Why are you here?”

I head for the stair,

No reply, or none I hear.

I head down the steps,

Slowly at first;

Not seeing the flex,

I end up going down head first.

In a heap on the floor,

At the foot of the stair,

I spy the open door,

I despair.

I think to myself,

I tell them all the time;

Although it’s on the shelf,

It can still climb.

I turn and I spy,

In the corner behind the chair;

I let out a cry,

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