This old lady, Hippity-hop, Cut this piece of wood, flippity-flop. She cut another, She cut another, She cut another, She cut another, chippity-chop. She gathered her wood, stick by stick, And built a fire, flickity-flick. A--black--cloud--grew. The wet--rain--blew, And she ran home, quickity-quick. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOMAS MACDONAGH by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE ON PASSING THE NEW MENIN GATE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON CHANGE OF MOOD by HAROLD BERGMAN PARACELSUS: 2. PARACELSUS ATTAINS by ROBERT BROWNING EPITAPH (9) by GABRIELLO CHIABRERA TO MY DEAR AND MOST WORTHY FRIEND, MR. IZAAK WALTON by CHARLES COTTON |