There is a house of unremark
That sits in sun-sparse, damp and dark;
A house not home to silence stark
As Two Foot Terror makes its mark.

Tales are rejoiced of days of old
And stories before Terror told,
Even of what a joy to hold
Future unknown with hair of gold.

But now there’s no carefree leisure
As Terror pursues grim pleasure
In breaking all your kept treasure;
Joy and tears in equal measure.

A tantrum away from dark form
That sweeps through your house like a storm;
Anxiety now the household norm,
Hoping toddler does not transform.

Counting the days until they’re spent,
Returning Angel - Heaven sent.
But for now, Terror seems Hell bent,
On giving us cause to repent.

So don’t be fooled by eyes of blue,
Or those silk locks of golden hue
As when your Angel turned aged two,
This Terror could happen to you!