The Five Fingers
AGREAT big brother,
And a little brother, so,
A big bell tower,
And a temple and a show,
And little baby wee wee,
Always wants to go.
The Five Fingers
THIS one’s old,
This one’s young,
This one has no meat,
This one’s gone
To buy some hay,
And this one’s on the street.
Old Mother Wind
OLD Mother Wind
Come this way,
And make our baby
Cool to-day.
Wash
WASH your face, you little tease,
And you’ll be free from all disease;
Wash your head, your face, and throat,
And you shall have a red silk coat.
Eight Bald-Heads
BALD-HEAD is sick,
And the second’s afraid,
The third calls a doctor,
The fourth gives him aid.
By the fifth he is borne,
By the sixth he is buried,
The seventh comes crying
Because he is worried.
When asked by an eighth,
Why it was that he cried,
He said, “In my home,
A dear bald-head has died.”
“Come, bury him quickly,
I fear a great hoard
Of the seeds of his spirit
Will spring from his gourd.”