Fickells Poem by Steve Howard

I found fickells on the doorstep,
in me tea and on me toast.
I found fickells in me pockets,
and on the Sunday dinner roast.
There are fickells in me hairbrush,
fickells up me nose,
fickells on the door knobs,
and on a pile of dirty clothes.
There are fickells on the ceiling,
fickells on the cat,
and a flock of them seem right at home,
on uncle Wilburs hat.
They mostly seem to lounge about,
I surely hope they mean no harm,
for if I open up a window,
they come in by the swarm.
They seem to be most everywhere.
I've got fickells on the brain.
It's becoming most annoying,
it's becoming quite a strain.
And as to where they're coming from;
I haven't got a clue.
And as to what a fickell is;
well..I'll just leave that up to you.