We are the keys, the lively, the bright!
The small metal spirits that play in the night!
Upon the keyring, we rest through the day;
But once the door closes, we hurry to play!
Yet we are responsible, this much is true,
We always return when the family needs you!
In Llaventura, a town rather
small, a secret was kept,
By the Pérez household,
while the whole family slept.
The keys on the rack, they would suddenly spring,
A jingling adventure, a merry metallic thing!
One would roll on the floor, another would hide,
Seeking amusement with nothing to guide.
One afternoon, alas, the game went too far,
Playing hide-and-seek, they forgot who they are!
Behind an old wall clock,
they huddled quite tight,
When little young Luis arrived
home in the fading light.
The keyring was vacant! The boy cried with fright!
To open the doorway, the keys were not in sight!
He looked in the mailbox and under the mat,
In the flowerpot corner, where a stray kitten sat!
“Where are my keys?” he cried in despair,
But they, behind the clock, felt a terrible scare.
Quick! They whispered, We must hurry back fast!
Our duty is waiting, our playtime is past!
They jumped with a clatter,
a frantic, quick flight,
To be in their spot 'fore he spotted the light!
Luis searched once more, and lo! there they were,
Just where they belonged, with no flutter or blur!
"How strange!" thought the
boy, "I swore they were gone."
He turned the lock safely and hurried on.
The lesson was learned, but the impulse to roam,
Meant they'd still sneak
off, but always come home.
We are the keys, the lively, the bright!
The small metal spirits that play in the night!
Upon the keyring, we rest through the day;
But once the door closes, we hurry to play!
Yet we are responsible, this much is true,
We always return when the family needs you!
Then came the deep cleaning, a chaotic affair,
Mrs. Pérez was scrubbing,
moving chair after chair!
Dusters and brooms, a metallic alarm!
The keys scurried quickly, to escape any harm.
No corner was safe, no cushion to cling,
So they leaped with a jingle, a desperate swing,
Right into the apron, the mother's deep fold,
The safest new hiding spot, shiny and bold!
When the family went out,
the search started again,
Worrying voices, a torrent of pain.
"Where are those keys,
dear?" The mother complained,
Then felt a sharp jingle, a truth unrestrained!
"Well, well!" she exclaimed,
with a chuckle and wink,
"These keys have a life! It's a marvelous blink!"
And the keys understood: Playtime is fine,
But duty is first, a magnificent
sign! They return every time.