No one is going to be in this book.
No matter how hard that you try and you look.
You won't ever see anyone under the bed.
There will never be anything clever that's said,
about how there will always be nothing inside,
any closet or cupboard, why there's nowhere to hide!
You may poke about rooms, like the kitchen in back,
beside nooks, and in crannies, in each crevice and crack.
There will definitely not, nor will quite ever be,
anything, anywho, for you ever to see.
In the library you still may not find what you seek,
for the books inside there you could read for a week
and each page in each text will be empty and bare.
Not a smidge or smudge or a bend or a tear,
will you find, left by anyone, EVER, not there!
No one is reading these books, no one is there.
You could sneak inside coats in the cloak room for fun.
Wear old hats or shoe spats, and then when you were done,
you would find only stuff that's been hung up to stay.
Nothing else there I say, there is no one, no way.
If you feel that you must, you could search up the stairs.
You could peer inside closets, or behind stuffed-up chairs.
You could climb all the way to the storage loft, or
you could peer for dust footprints in the old dusty floor.
You could look for two days or a month or a year,
and I'm quite assured that I can say without fear,
that there's no chance, no how, that you'll turn up a soul.
No, not even a mouse in a tiny mouse hole.
If the basement should be where you find yourself next,
you wont be found confused, or surprised or perplexed.
You won't be found at all, it's a matter that's true.
There is no one who's there to be looking for you,
just an empty brown sock by an emptier shoe,
that's been left there by no one, without trace, hint or clue.
When you've tired of peeking and searching about,
and you're looking is used up, and your hunting's worn out.
When you've glanced all and seen all and been every place,
and you're sure that there's no one inside this whole space.
That there's no one at ALL, not a peep or a pop
Not a zip or a zap or a fleep or a flop.
Not the teeniest, tiniest, smallest of small,
in the whole doggone book, nowhere, no way at all.
Then I must say I'm sorry, for I've been a bit hidey.
I just wanted it all to be neat, nice and tidy.
There is actually someone, who's right here in this book,
but you must pay attention, and must carefully look!
For the next page will show just the person you seek,
they are waiting you see, go ahead, take a peek.
Just turn passed the next page of this book to reveal,
and unveil what I've secretly tried to conceal.
You'll prove once and for all that I'm wrong plain and true.
Why the person who's hiding here…bless me, it's you!
Copyright Brandon Johnson, 2007
The author lives in Kentucky, USA.
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