I felt a hand upon my head, I opened one eye, bleary,
'twas tiny little Tommy, his young eyes all wide with fright,
He looked from me to Mommy, then he peered into the night
"Why, Tom, my funny little lad, what's with this late-night waking?
Have you seen something bad?" He had, he said, his hands a-shaking.
His little voice began to rise, he blurted out with feeling,
"A gargoyle that has light-up eyes is pooping on the ceiling!"
I was taken quite aback, did not know what to say.
That's not the kind of fact you're used to hearing every day.
And then, I guess, it dawned on me, that Tommy still was waiting,
I guess I'd have to go and see this ghastly defecating.
So through the door and down the stair, outside to see this proof
And sure enough, a gargoyle's there a-poopin' on the roof.
He looked at me with light-up eyes, his manner grand and haughty
And squeezing out one last surprise, completed his foul potty.
And then he stood against the sky and gave us one last glare
He spread his wings, began to fly, and vanished in the air.
Me and Tommy rarely speak, the subject gives us tingles.
But once in a while we have to peek at the pile up on the shingles...