THREE little ghostesses, Sitting on postesses, Eating buttered toastesses, Greasing their fistesses, Up to their wristesses. Oh, what beastesses To make such feastesses! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLIFF SWALLOWS by DEBRA NYSTROM THE REVENGE; A BALLAD OF THE FLEET by ALFRED TENNYSON OUT OF THE HILLS by IRENE ARCHER AFTER THE SOIREE by F. R. D. B. SONG FOR THE LONDON VOLUNTEERS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LAST MAN: KISSES by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |