Once upon a midnight trample, while I cooked for family so ample,

One dozen I wish, two dozen it is.

With the stirring spoon sitting in my palm, I stared at the scorching soup,

A sudden sonorus stomp approached my ear, I so fastly disappear.

“Tis my husband” I whispered to myself, “flattening the meat --

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, but I slowly grew wary - “Tis the mating season for the ravens,”

And the knocking stood on my rooftop as the birds called their mates.

Behind I was in cooking, will this trample ever stop?

Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

Frustrated and embittered, hoping ‘twas only the ravens,

The stomping lingered evermore

For I clambered up to the attic, ‘tis the noise - emphatic

Thundering and stomping louder every step of the ladder

Shoes were being thrown, more precisely, heels

I was resurgent and in relief --

‘Twas my child! My lovely little girl!

But, oh, how she will be castigated for playing with my shoes!

Only my little girl passionate for shoes and nothing more.