Little baby Florrie Flo
Sat at the kitchen table,
And ate her dinner, even though
She wasn’t very stable.
She wobbled rather, on her chair
And gobbled mashed potato,
She spread some gravy in her hair
And saved some sprouts for later.
She’d baked bean juice across her cheeks,
A sausage in her pocket,
With peas that had been there for weeks;
A clever trick – don’t knock it!
And when her Dad came in the room
Her smile was so disarming,
He got his camera, (twelve times zoom),
He found her mess so charming.
He filmed her playing with her food,
Which only made her bolder.
Behaviour which you may find rude
Depends on the beholder.
Something that Mummy would deplore
Caused Dad great satisfaction,
So when he laughed, Flo laughed out more,
Which caused a strange reaction;
A little trump slipped from below,
This would not please her mother,
But Dad guffawed, and filmed, and so,
She thought she’d do another.
Her face went red, she pushed and squeezed
To try to toot a fast one.
She knew her dad would be so pleased –
Well, judging from the last one.
But then her smile became a frown;
She hadn’t made a trumpy
She looked up, then she looked back down –
“That one came out all lumpy!”
