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...DRIVING INTO LARAMIE by JAMES GALVIN THREE SONNETS by RICHARD WILBUR THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |