GREY as a guinea-fowl is the rain Squawking down from the boughs again. "Anne, Anne, Go fill the pail," Said the old witch who sat on the rail. "Though there is a hole in the bucket, Anne, Anne, It will fill my pocket; The water-drops when they cross my doors Will turn to guineas and gold moidores. . . ." The well-water hops across the floors; Whimpering, "Anne" it cries, implores, And the guinea-fowl-plumaged rain, Squawking down from the boughs again, Cried, "Anne, Anne, go fill the bucket, There is a hole in the witch's pocket -- And the water-drops like gold moidores, Obedient girl, will surely be yours. So, Anne, Anne, Go fill the pail Of the old witch who sits on the rail!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPLANDS IN MAY by CARL SANDBURG SOMETIMES by THOMAS SAMUEL JONES JR. AN ORCHARD AT AVIGNON by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON CIVIL WAR by CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. THE GASTRIC MUSE by JOHN ARMSTRONG |