A House Of Eight Poem by Holmes Jim

Born third oldest, in a house of eight,
Where madness played between the calm,
I learned to hone my mischievous ways,
Only to answer, "It wasn't me Mom".

Brother or sister, all were fair game,
Subjected to my impish lobs,
Equally treated, as I took my aim,
Only to answer, "It wasn't me Mom".

We had our fun in youthful play,
Growing together, as families do,
I doled out the mayhem, to lighten the day,
But always to answer, "It wasn't me Mom"