There
was an old woman, tossed up in a basket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon;
Where
she was going, I couldn’t but ask her
For in her hand she carried a broom.
Old woman,
old woman, old woman, quoth I,
Where are you going to up so high?
To brush
the cobwebs off the sky!
May I go with you?
Yes,
by-and-by. |