Petunia was a petulant child
who'd stomp and throw conniptions.
Her tantrums were too terrible
for adequate descriptions.

She'd clench her jaws and hold her breath
till she couldn't hold out anymore;
then follow that up with a piercing scream
and a fearsome, ripsnorting roar.

She bellowed, bawled and caterwauled,
screeched, squalled, shrieked and stormed,
sobbed and sniveled and snuffled,
till rain clouds started to form.

If Petunia were not persnickety,
this might not have turned out bad;
but since she liked hardly anything,
she threw fits any chance she had.

She kicked her feet at the sight of peas
and tossed them across the table.
I bet she'd have tossed the table too
if only she were able.

She never liked clothes her mother chose
or the food that she was served.
Petunia fumed and cursed the life
she bemoaned she did not deserve.

So what, you might ask, became of this girl
we know as so rude and hateful?
Did she reform, become polite,
and learn to be more grateful?

If happy endings were up for sale,
I'd purchase one for a tuppence.
In truth Petunia exploded one day
and finally got her comeuppance.