e it--one bit.

    ell, w do you know?

    Its nibblin my toe.

    Oh, gee,

    Its up to my knee.

    Oh my,

    Its up to my thigh.

    Oh, fiddle,

    Its up to my middle.

    Oh, heck,

    Its up to my neck.

    Oh, dread,

    Its upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

    Once I spoke the flowers,

    Once I understood eacerpillar said,

    Once I smiled in secret at tarlings,

    And sion he housefly

    in my bed.

    Once I ions

    of ts,

    And joined the crying of each falling dying

    flake of snow,

    Once I spoke the flowers. . . .

    go?

    go?

    Buy Seins Poetry

    If you o school.

    teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.

    A crumb of cake

    And last you seven days at least,

    A flea would be a frig

    If you were one incall.

    If you he door,

    And it ake about a monto get doo tore.

    A bit of fluff would be your bed,

    Youd shread,

    And himble on your head

    If you were one incall.

    Youd surf across tcick of gum.

    You couldnt  o humb.

    Youd run from peoples feet in fright,

    to move a pen ake all night,

    (took fourteen years to e--

    Cause Im just one incall).

    I opened my eyes

    And looked up at the rain,

    And it dripped in my head

    And floo my brain,

    And all t I hear as I lie in my bed

    Is ty-sloshe rain in my head.

    I step very softly,