A Tag In Rhyme

Another tag has come Mom's way
Eight things about her Moppet to say.

At first she thought it had all been said
But then an idea popped into her head.

The tag she would in verse complete
Though a worse poet you never did meet.

Be warned, bad verse can make you ill
Read on, therefore, at your peril.

The first thing that you ought to know
Is that spit bubbles I like to blow.

Animal sounds I make a few
And that my friends, is point number two.

For three, my books I know by name
Which making me fetch is Mom's new game.

I cannot be stopped by any closed door
I knock till it's opened, and that's point four.

Five is about my theatrical laughter
Which manifests mostly some mischief after.

It seems I'm always up to tricks
My folks can not keep up, that's six.

Milk from a cup I am learning to drink
And that completes point seven, I think.

Point eight, as Mama is (too) fond of sayin'
Is that in the butt, I am sometimes a pain

And yet I know she could not love me more
I love her too, though her rhymes are a bore!