Now, in the land of lost-and-found

The finders-keepers live

They never make a single sound,

They take just what you give.

A sneaker here, a pencil there

A book, a magazine

The clip you use to pin your hair

(On those they’re ‘specially keen)

The things you never put away

‘Cause you don’t have the time

They pocket them and smile (They say

‘Well hey, it’s not a crime.’)

You see, they’ve got a special place

For things they get from you

That five-pound note, that one shoe lace

Your coat and mittens too –

They’ll put ‘em where you’d never think

That they should ever be

(Behind the stove -- the bathroom sink --

Some place you’ll never see!)

They watch you as you search around

For what you cannot find

They know it never will be found

Till you’ve half lost your mind.

Your panic – and your frantic haste

Amuses them no end

Your time is theirs to idly waste

As you go ‘round the bend

And when you’ve searched both high & low

And must concede defeat

You’ll find the thing you hunted so

Is lying at your feet.

Yes in the land of lost-and-found

The finders-keepers stay

If you don’t want their kind around,

Then put your things away!