Thursday, October 27, 2022


Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds, 
Baked in a pie;
When the pie was opened, 
The birds began to sing; 
Wasn’t that a dainty dish 
To set before a king?

The king was in his countinghouse 
Counting out his money;
The queen was in the parlor 
Eating bread and honey;
The maid was in the garden 
Hanging out the clothes, 
Along came a blackbird, 
And snipped off her nose.

No comments:

Post a Comment