Down by the Pond
I’m fishing.
Don’t talk, anybody, don’t come near!
Can’t you see that the fish might hear?
He thinks I’m playing with a piece of string;
He thinks I’m another sort of funny sort of thing,
But he doesn’t know I’m fishing—
He doesn’t know I’m fishing.
That’s what I’m doing—
Fishing.
No, I’m not, I’m newting.
Don’t cough, anybody, don’t come by!
Any small noise makes a newt feel shy.
He thinks I’m a bush, or a new sort of tree;
He thinks it’s somebody, but doesn’t think it’s Me,
And he doesn’t know I’m newting—
No, he doesn’t know I’m newting.
That’s what I’m doing—
Newting.