What follows is quite possibly the worst poetry ever written. Continue at your own risk.

'Twas right before dinner and all through the house
the creatures with screaming in a pitch that would surely frighten a mouse.
The stockings were piled up high in a bowl
in hopes that no guests would arrive that I didn't know.

The children jumped gladly on top of their beds
while I hoped that no injury would come to their heads.
With Daddy working away in the heat
Mommy stood guard at the stove with the meat.

When out of the bedroom there elapsed such a quiet
I sprang from the stove to see what had caused it.
Away to the bathroom I flew like a flash,
opened the door and sucked in a gasp.

The afternoon sun warmed up the small room
While the gentle breeze spun around a perfume.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear
but a toddler in pink looking proud as a pear.

With a little old painter so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it would make me sick.
More rapid than eagles the curses they came,
though I reined in my tongue, in my mind still they stayed.

"What in the name of heaven have you done!" I said, feeling faint.
The proudest reply came, "I paint!"
The smell of nail polish assaulted my nose;
He was painted in pink from his head to his toes.
So I grabbed the camera and took these photos: