I think there’s a wormhole in my bed:
Can’t find my mobile, needle and thread.
My scissors have vanished, I’m afraid;
Not quite where all of them have been laid.

I look for each thing for days on end:
Cannot find my notebook nor my pen.
My torch also promptly disappears,
While my teddy brought me close to tears.

I search for my lucky charm in vain –
I clasp close the things that still remain.
Looking around to see who to blame,
I can only utter my own name.

Stressed and feeling the ultimate pain –
I’m resigned ne’er to see them again.
They then appear from another plane…
Either that, or I’m going insane!