Mr. Nobody

 author unknown
I know a funny little man
As quiet as a mouse
He does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house.
Though no one ever sees his face
Yet one and all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr Nobody
'Tis he who always tears our books
Who leaves the door ajar.
He picks the buttons from our shirts
And scatters pins afar.
That squeaking door will always squeak -
For prithee, don't you see?
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr Nobody.
He puts damp wood upon the fire
That kettles will not boil:
His are the feet that bring in mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers that so oft are lost -
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr Nobody.
The fingermarks upon the door
By none of us were made.
We never leave the blinds unclosed
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill! The boots
That lying round you see
Are not our boots - they all belong
To Mr Nobody.