The Bug
On a cold winter morning,
With the fireplace burning,
There was a bug, under a rug,
It was big, and ate a fig.
As it travelled across the floor,
It ate an apple core,
Then kept going,
For it was growing.
It found a chair,
And decided it was fair,
So he climbed it,
And ate a mitt.
Now the bug was very full,
And he really tried to pull,
His big fat body up the chair.
When he reached the top he found a thing,
It was playing on a bright shiny bling.
The bug was so full, that he fell of the chair,
And landed on the thing's hair.
THE END
On a cold winter morning,
With the fireplace burning,
There was a bug, under a rug,
It was big, and ate a fig.
As it travelled across the floor,
It ate an apple core,
Then kept going,
For it was growing.
It found a chair,
And decided it was fair,
So he climbed it,
And ate a mitt.
Now the bug was very full,
And he really tried to pull,
His big fat body up the chair.
When he reached the top he found a thing,
It was playing on a bright shiny bling.
The bug was so full, that he fell of the chair,
And landed on the thing's hair.
THE END
