Tell you a story? Dear me!
And which one shall I tell?
How Tommy Green, in cruel sport,
Dropped Pussy in the well?
Shall I tell you of Dame Hubbard's dog,
And the wonderful things he did;
Or of poor Bo-Peep, who could not tell
Where her wandering sheep were hid?
Or shall I tell of the dreadful wolf
Who met Red Riding-hood;
Or will you hear the sad, sad tale
Of the Children in the Wood?
Of Cinderella, who sat by the fire,
And wanted to go to the ball,
And the nice old godmother who came
With the slippers of glass, and all?
Or shall I sing of the active cow
Who jumped right over the moon?
Perhaps she frightened the man up there,
And made him come "down too soon."
Or will you hear of the famous birds
All baked in the royal pie?
I think we could make a better dish
With "a pocket full of rye."
What! baby mine, you are going to sleep,
And none of the stories are told?
The blue eyes are shut, and the pillow waits
For the touch of the curls of gold.
* * * * *