I give up

The little one decided right

Tonight will be the night

For the fight and things that fright

She would raise any reason

Putting the squeeze on a season of treason

No cuddles, she’s put the freeze on

Holding me back, no to any dealing

Feeling no desire to stare at the ceiling

Like an onion of me she is peeling

In a race with the clock toward morning

Yawning, mourning any scorning,

And totally ignoring every warning

“I’m not tired, I’m not tired”, the father is fired

Retired is the mother, the baby inspired

Very next day a Nanny is hired.

 

Image: Poppy Fenton and Dadda 2013