A speck went blowing up against the sky
As little as a leaf: then it drew near
And broadened.--'It's a bird,' said I,
And fetched my bow and arrows. It was queer!
It grew from up a speck into a blot,
And squattered past a cloud; then it flew down
All crumply, and waggled such a lot
I thought the thing would fall.--It was a brown
Old carpet where a man was sitting snug
Who, when he reached the ground, began to sew
A big hole in the middle of the rug,
And kept on peeping everywhere to know
Who might be coming--then he gave a twist
And flew away.... I fired at him but missed.
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