Mischievous Toys Poem by Kim Barney

Sometimes I dream that while I sleep
my toys get up and start to creep
around the room and on my bed
and pull my hair and poke my head.

When my eyes open, I was wrong;
they're back on shelves where they belong,
except they sometimes leave a trace;
a thing or two seems out of place.

My little train is off the track,
and I was sure I'd put it back.
So are these rascals what they seem?
Do they do mischief while I dream?

Why don't they move around by day
so I could have more fun at play?
It would be nice if they would talk
and let me watch them while they walk.

One of these nights I'll stay awake
and they will make some big mistake
and let me catch them if they dare
to poke my head or pull my hair.

Then I will laugh and so will they,
and all of us will join in play,
and you'll see how this story ends:
we'll all become the best of friends!