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Mr. Nobody: The Mischief Maker Poem

The poem describes an imaginary character named Mr. Nobody who is blamed for all the little mishaps and mistakes around the house such as broken plates, torn books, muddy footprints, and spilled ink. Mr. Nobody is described as a quiet, unseen person who is always leaving doors open or objects scattered and is responsible for any small annoyances. While no one ever sees Mr. Nobody, he is agreed to be the cause of all the little problems nobody else takes credit for.

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Ummi Umarah
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407 views1 page

Mr. Nobody: The Mischief Maker Poem

The poem describes an imaginary character named Mr. Nobody who is blamed for all the little mishaps and mistakes around the house such as broken plates, torn books, muddy footprints, and spilled ink. Mr. Nobody is described as a quiet, unseen person who is always leaving doors open or objects scattered and is responsible for any small annoyances. While no one ever sees Mr. Nobody, he is agreed to be the cause of all the little problems nobody else takes credit for.

Uploaded by

Ummi Umarah
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

MR NOBODY

I know a funny little man,


As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybodys house!
Theres no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.
Tis he who always tears out books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For prithee, dont you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.
He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettle cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soil.
The papers are always mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr Nobody.
The finger marks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
That lying round you see
Are not our boots,they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.
THE RIVER

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