The Meewee that lives under my bed,
Has purple skin and an unusually large head.
His eyes are large and green,
And although he looks it, he is not at all mean.
His fingers are boney, and his feet are too,
When he smiles you can see his teeth are all cover in goo.
His skin is like leather; all smooth and tough
And he can eat and eat, but it is never enough.
When he giggles, out comes some fire,
And at those times, he is never shyer.
His voice cracks when he talks,
And he has a definite swagger in the way he walks.
His breath was always so fresh and new
It reminded me of the morning, all covered on dew.
He was cheerful and funny; a joy to be around.
I’d known him for years, but I’d never seen him frown.
He bounced off the walls all day and nigh;
He never slept, and never knew fright.
He is the Meewee that lives under my bed.
I know what you think; that he’s just in my head.
But come into my room, you’ll never see anything bounce higher
Than my little purple Meewee that laughs and spits fire.