Mr. Nobody

I know a funny little man
As quiet as a mouse
He does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house.
Though no one every sees his face
Yet one and all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.

It is he who always tears our books
Who leaves the door ajar
He picks the buttons from our shirts
And scatters pins afar.
That squeaking door will always squeak
For prithee, don't you see?
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire
That kettles will not boil
His are the feet that bring in mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers that so soft are lost
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

The fingermarks upon the door
By none of us were 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.