I was laying in bed, one night last spring (after a hard night of playing with kids, cooking, cleaning-and all the other things us moms do) and out the blue I felt remarkably similar to the little old woman who lived in a shoe. So, I thought I would have some fun with it. I mean no offense to anyone by this post. This poem was written last May.

There was a little old woman, who lived in the projects.

She held an infant, and paternity the father objected.

She appeared on Maury, and the answers were read.

It was finally established, he WAS the dad.