What A Ride Poem by Ima Ryma

I was in my crib, fast asleep,
When a twister tore through the place,
Like a big broom making a sweep.
It swept my crib out of its place,
Swirling me right up through a hole
In the roof, spinning me around.
Down the street, I went on a roll.
In a neighbor's yard, I hit ground.
Thank goodness, my folks were okay.
They wondered what happened to me.
My gurgling sounds led them my way.
They found me under some debris.

I'm just 1 year old, and I flew.
What's gonna happen when I'm 2?