Mr. Nobody

I know a funny little man,

As quiet as a mouse,

Who does the mischief that is done

In everybody's house!

There's no one who ever sees his face,

And yet we all agree

That every plate we break was cracked

By Mr. Nobody.

This he who always tears out 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 fingers marks upon the door

By none of us are made;

We never 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.