OLD King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he, Till he called for his pipe, and called for his bowl, And called for his fiddlers three. His pipe, that cost, in the days of old, But a dollar seventy-four, Now cost him twenty dollars in gold On account of the well-known war. His bowl—and though, in the olden time, When bowls were cheap and good At a cent apiece—now cost a dime, On account of the dearth of wood. And his fiddlers three who played so grand For a dollar and a half a day, Were known as The Ukulele Band In a midnight cabaret. Yes, Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a m. o. s. was he, Till he called for his pipe, and called for his bowl, And called for his fiddlers three. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SARAH BROWN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO AN INTRA-MURAL RAT by MARIANNE MOORE CARGO MOVING TO GAZA (1988) by MARVIN BELL THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST THREE SONNETS by RICHARD WILBUR |