 | Mother Pitcher's poems For Little People |  |
15
Miss Fidgets.
Dreadful Intelligence!
Saturday night,Fidgety Nervousness perished of fright!
She was scared at a mouse which ran into a hole;
She screamed at a bug which she found in the bowl;
She yelled at a petticoat hung up to dry,
And swooned at a man with a gun going by;
She squalled at a spider which fell on her veil,
And cried at a hat and a coat on a nail.
A chestnut at roast, which went pop in the fire,
Alarmed her so much that she thought she'd expire:
The lightning at last drove her out of her wits,
To conniption convulsions and cranberry fits:
16
And the hickory spasms soon left her quite blind;
Her nerves were so stretched that they couldn't untune 'em,
And she died in a state of E pluribus Unum!
They sent for a doctor to stop the fit,
But he couldn't help her a single bit;
For before he arrived at her bedside,
With a dreadful squeal, Miss Fidgety died.
So they buried her under an aspen-tree;
And its leaves keep trembling, as all may see,
Shaking and shivering, by night and by day,
Till the winter comes and they're frozen away.
| Mother Pitcher's poems For Little People | |