The prowlers crept on by their toes
With hats and knapsacks in tow.
"What will happen when we're gone?"
Asked one with a voice often used for song.
"The poet won't have a poem,"
Replied a BRUSH, mouth filled with foam.
"But if we're caught we're in for IT."
"Hey, watch it!" replied he.
UP and DOWN, HILL and PLAIN,
This rowdy poem caused MAYHEM.
Then finally, at the LAMP,
The fateful IT ran up the ramp
And landed over
The switch marked ON.
So they were caught,
And for the second time re-drawn.
Me, at age 10, trying to be clever. I seem to have an on/off rhyme scheme throughout.