While he lovingly pushed his favorite toy.
Hmmm...humm...yum..yum sang the baby,
As she tasted the mashed potato, gravy.
Quiet tunes free of the season's joy.
Baaa....mmaap she mimics old Billy goat,
She has the sound matter of rote.
Boy now reading Jimima Puddle Duck,
In that old cuddly chair he is stuck.
Feeling the rhythm of the poem, by note.
All, for the moment is well, subject to change.
Jangling telephone of voice strange,
Wanting to sell us a new something or other,
Maybe if not us, our Mother?
Thoughts of putting our fist through phone, his nose, rearrange.