Messy Pete

Messy Pete began to eat
A dusty, dirty grimy treat.
He found too late that what he ate
Was also on a dirty plate.
It was a mess; I must confess
His room was filled with dirtiness.
What caused this scene that’s so obscene
Was Messy Pete would never clean.
He’d never try to clean that sty.
His dirty clothes all piled high.
His underwear was here and there.
His toys were scattered everywhere.
He had a knack for losing track
Of where he’d left his school sack.
I’ll tell you now the story how
Pete overcame the mess somehow.
It was the treat which Messy Pete
Decided that he’d try to eat.
Just one small lick so very quick
Began to make him awfully sick.
So sick, in fact he coughed and hacked
So hard his jaw bone almost cracked.
His fever burned and then he turned
So green his mom became concerned.
He lay in bed, his father said
“You’re lucky, son, that you’re not dead.
The doctor called and he’s appalled
He says your mess here must be solved.
If you don’t zoom to clean your room
It could spell out your sudden doom!”
Pete was aware as he lay there
His room was filled with odors rare.
“This mess,” thought he, “is killing me.
If I get better I’ll agree
To be the best, above the rest
At making cleanliness my quest.”
He hadn’t lied. From then he tried
To clean his room with certain pride.
And what completes this tale of Pete’s?
He’ll wash his hands before he eats.