The Horse Of Too Much Trouble

The Horse of Too Much Trouble
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In the house of too much trouble
Lived & lonely little boy:
He was eager for a playmate,
He was hungry for a toy
But ’twas always too much trouble,
Too much dirt and too much noise,
For the house of too much trouble
Wasn’t meant for little boys

And sometimes the little fellow
Left a book upon the floor,
Or forgot and laughed too loudly
Or he failed to close the door
In the house of too much trouble
Things must be precise and trim:
In the house of too much trouble
There was little room for him

He must never scatter playthings
He must never romp and play
Every room must be in order
And kept quiet all the day
He had never had companions,
He had never owned a pot:
In the house of too much trouble
It is trim and quiet yet

Every room in set in order
Every book is in its place
And the lonely little fellow
Wears a smile upon his face
In the house of too much trouble
He is allent and at rest,
In the house of too much trouble
With a lily on his breast