A Precocious Little Thing Poem by Minnie May

once there was aboy
who lived his life.
he had a favourite toy,
it was a sharp knife.

he loved to kill his teddy,
but he missed the blood.
he felt he was ready
so he made a cut.

he did not like the pain,
on his little arm.
he made up another game:
causing harm.

he called for his parents
very softly.
he called a second time.
they came immediately.

he told them
to close their eyes
and not to frighten.
he would be nice.

he stabbed his father
to death with his knife.
his mother was crying:
, , You are just five! ''