Hobbits don’t bounce…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

He heard me scream, I heard him curse,
I lay there thinking, ‘Could be worse’,
My dripping son looked pale and white…
I guess I must have looked a sight
Laid out upon his kitchen floor
Beneath the broken cupboard door.

I’d climbed, you see, to reach the shelf…
My stature will not stretch itself
To reach so high without a boost,
So, like a pigeon gone to roost,
Precarious, I’d perched on high…
And, found that like a bird, I fly.

The chair upon whose seat I stood
Had wheels… and it’s all well and good
To wedge the thing against the wall,
Preventing any risk of fall
By clinging to the cupboard door…
If it’s not screwed on anymore.

The chair slid out, I grasped and clung,
And from my perch was soundly flung,
The door still held within my hand
And wondering on what I’d land.

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