Charlie Fall-A-Lot

They called me Charlie Fall-A-Lot,

Cause I was on the floor a lot.

 

I tried my best, it made no sense

I’d stand up straight – then down I went

I'd play up front, I'd get the ball

But as I'd shoot – again, I'd fall.

 

They took me to surgery

To try and solve this mystery

But doctor could find nothing wrong –

I heard her, but my legs had gone

 

They called me Charlie Fall-A-Lot,

Cause I was on the floor a lot.

 

I got the bus that went to town

And sure enough, I fell right down

And on the dusty rusty floor

Underneath the seat, I saw

 

A tiny, shiny, talking flea

Who buzzed and bugged and looked at me:

“Hmm, a boy,” a small voice said,

“Has fallen down, and bonked his head,

 

“What do they call you, fall-down-boy,

Or are you here just to annoy?”

 

Well, this was something new to see.

I’d never met a talking flea.

“I’m Charlie,” I said, cautiously.

“I fall a lot. What’s wrong with me?”

 

The Flea laughed long and squeakily

And I became quite giggly

Then as the bus backfired and burped

I struggled up and sat, alert.

 

“They call me Charlie Fall-a-lot,”

I said. And the flea jumped right up.

 

“I’m sure they do,” said Flea. “But they

Are wrong. You need to calibrate

Yourself. Now listen carefully:

You’ve just got different gravity.

"You’re not falling, but nearly flying,

But right now, friend, there’s no denying

Your skills at this are quite appalling

So yes, it looks like you are falling.

 

“So take heed, Nearly-Fly-A-Lot,

You’re special. Now, this is your stop.”

 

The bus pulled up, and gingerly

I took a step, and two, and three,

And four, and five, and six, and more

And there was no sign of a fall!

 

I waved at Flea, who buzzed right back

And went back to his bus-chair nap.

I stumbled, true, but now I knew

I didn’t fall: I nearly flew.

 

They still call me a Fall-a-lot

And yes, I sometimes do trip up

But I don’t worry anymore

Cause I can – very nearly - soar.