He slides out of bed onto his head.
Wearing his socks meant for feet on his head instead.
On his heels he balances his hat, what do you think of that?
His mother warns him, his head may soon hurt,
His chest get cold, because of his fallen shirt.
His ankles feel draughty, and his hands get so dirty.
“But I want to be different” replied the boy.
“If you walk in the normal way,
Your head won’t be flattened, in anyway.”
The boy studded his head, in the mirror by his bed.
She could be right, he thought in dismay,
My head is flattened; I’ll be careful now how I lay.
Days later, he looked in the glass, at his head with dark locks
And saw his whole head, had turned into a box.
“I will never again walk on my head, but use my feet instead.” He said.