DAME, get up and bake your pies, Bake your pies, bake your pies; Dame, get up and bake your pies, On Christmas day in the morning. Dame, what makes your maidens lie, Maidens lie, maidens lie; Dame, what makes your maidens lie, On Christmas day in the morning? Dame, what makes your ducks to die, Ducks to die, ducks to die; Dame, what makes your ducks to die, On Christmas day in the morning? Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, Cannot fly, cannot fly; Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, On Christmas day in the morning. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SHACK DYE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN by THOMAS WYATT BABY BELL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE LITANY [TO THE HOLY SPIRIT] by ROBERT HERRICK |