 | Mother Pitcher's poems For Little People |  |
20
The Great Singer.
You really ought to hear me sing:
I don't believe you ever,
In all your life, heard any thing
Which sounded half so clever.
I don't believe you ever,
In all your life, heard any thing
Which sounded half so clever.
My voice would make a lover run
From her he most adored:
It sounds just like a carpenter
When sawing at a board.
From her he most adored:
It sounds just like a carpenter
When sawing at a board.
Whene'er I raise my voice in song,
It reaches to the eaves;
And when I try, the fancy notes,
The peach-trees shed their leaves.
It reaches to the eaves;
And when I try, the fancy notes,
The peach-trees shed their leaves.
The style I have is quite my own;
I cannot rivalled be:
There is no man in all the land
Who sings a bit like me.
I cannot rivalled be:
There is no man in all the land
Who sings a bit like me.
Then children all, both great and small,
Attend to what I say;
And if you're good, I will not sing
Until you've gone away!
Attend to what I say;
And if you're good, I will not sing
Until you've gone away!
| Mother Pitcher's poems For Little People | |