Jack of the Inkpot

I dance on your paper, I hide in your pen, I make in your ink-stand My little black den; And, when you're not looking, I hop on your nose, And leave on your forehead The marks of my toes.

When you're trying to finish Your "i" with a dot, I slip down your finger And make it a blot; And, when you're so busy To cross a big "T," I make on the paper A little Black Sea.

I drink blotting-paper, Eat pen-wiper pie; You never can catch me, You never need try! I leap any distance, I use any ink, I'm on your fingers Before you can wink.