My Mother's Got Me Bundled Up

By: Jack Prelutsky

My mother's got me bundled up

in tons of winter clothes,

you could not recognize me

if I did not have a nose.

I'd wear much less, but she'd get mad

if I dared disobey her,

so I stay wrapped from head to toe

in layer after layer.

I am wearing extra sweaters,

I am wearing extra socks,

my galoshes are so heavy

that my ankles seem like rocks.

I am wearing scarves and earmuffs,

I am wearing itchy pants,

my legs feel like they're swarming

with a million tiny ants.

My mittens are enormous

and my coat weighs more than me,

my woolen hat and ski mask

make it difficult to see.

It's hard to move, and when I try

I waddle, then I flop,

I'm the living, breathing model

of a walking clothing shop.