THERE was a little man, and he had a little gun, And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead; He went to the brook, and shot a little duck, Right through the middle of the head, head, head. He carried it home to his old wife Joan, And bade her a fire for to make, make, make, To roast the little duck he had shot in the brook, And he'd go and fetch her the drake, drake, drake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OCTAVES: 8 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON PARTED FRIENDS by JAMES MONTGOMERY A LETTER TO LADY [MISS] MARGARET-CAVANDISH-HOLLES-HARLEY, WHEN A CHILD by MATTHEW PRIOR ON SOME BUTTERCUPS by FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN THE INDIAN UPON GOD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE SHRINE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |