He lives within his Toytown house
And stays, contented, there;
Happy, silent as a mouse
Dozed in his tortile chair.
Ready and alert is he,
Uncertain what's in store,
Thinking next who it may be
Comes knocking at his door.
Will someone call to visit soon?
Will someone come to play?
Will someone tease and hum a tune
Upon this very day?
All alone he'll sit and mope
The smile washed from his face;
Sadly tearful in the hope
Some antic should take place.
But wait! what's this? a fuss he hears
Along the nursery lane;
He cocks his head and pricks his ears
And harkens it again.
Did he sense a stir, so slight?
Yes! he's sure he did...
He springs and gives them such a fright
When someone lifts his lid.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem