Ring, ring
the doorbell rings.
I rush to open the door.

Ring, ring
who can it be
standing at my door?

It might be the sitter 
'cause Mom and Dad
are going out.

I hope she is a fun one
and not too overly stout.
I hope she will play with me
and doesn't suffer gout.

And as I stand here waiting
she's pushing on the bell.
Perhaps she'll just go away
and I won't have to tell.


     I like doors.  Do you?  How many doors are there in your house?  Are all the doors the same or different? 
Do you have a favorite sitter?  What do you do when the sitter comes?  Can you write a poem about a sitter, or babysitting?  Have a happy Saturday.