Читать книгу The Adventures of a Modest Man - Chambers Robert William - Страница 2

There is a little flow-urr

In our yard it does grow

Where many a happy hou-urr

I watch our rooster crow;

While clothes hang on the clothes-line

And plowing has began

– And the name they call this lit-tul vine

Is just "Old Man."

Old Man, Old Man

A-growing in our yard,

Every spring a-coming up

While yet the ground is har-rrd;

Pottering 'round the chickens' pan,

Creeping low and slow,

And why they call it Old Man

I never asked to know.

I never want to know.

Crawling through the chick-weed,

Dragging through the quack,

Pussly, tansy, tick-weed

Almost break his back.

Catnip, cockle, dock prevent

His travelling all they can,

But still he goes the ways he's went,

Poor Old Man!

Old Man, Old Man,

What's the use of you?

No one wants to see you, like

As if you hadn't grew.

You ain't no good to nothing

So far as I can see,

Unless some maiden fair will sing

These lines I've wrote to thee.

And sing 'em soft to me.

Some maiden fa-hair

With { ra-haven} hair

{ go-holden }

Will si-hing this so-hong

To me-hee-ee!