The children

 They would canoodle
 and swoodle
 and oodle 
 and boodle
 and cajole
 and rumble
 and fall
  
 They’d get up
 and they’d play
 and dance
 every which way
 and entice
 everyone
 each
 one and all
  
 They would complain
 when they’d 
 suffer some pain
 and bruises
 and oozes
 and which
  
 But they’d always
 get well
 cos they’re mother
 would tell;
 it’ll heal 
 on it’s own
 with no stitch
  
 They’d forever
 be happy
 and jolly
 and flappy
 and funny 
 and carefree
 and young
  
 for no matter 
 the weather
 they’d always
 be better
 when they’d canoodle
 and swoodle
 and run.