BY Morgan Celeste Barlowe, your first born and favourite.
(...and David, The Toad, your grandson)
Dearest Sir (or Madam?) Within the Wall,
Why must you be so awfully loud?
I admire your bold and booming rhythm,
But it makes it terribly hard to sleep.
You clatter about with spoons in hand,
And use the pipes to sing your tunes.
You’ve frightened David so severely
He actually fainted last week.
I leave you snacks as a kind gesture:
Biscuits, crisps, a few of my favorites;
But please avoid the sweets, I beg you,
For you don’t brush your teeth, after all.
Please, Sir (or Madam?), think of others,
For witches and wizards need their rest.
My father says I should be patient,
That ghouls can be “practically family.”
But must you be quite so rowdy
And upset David so badly?