Читать книгу Cinderella; Or, The Little Glass Slipper, and Other Stories - Unknown - Страница 5

     What is that ugly thing I see

     Which follows, follows, follows me,

     Which ever way I turn or go?

     What is that thing? I want to know.

     If I but turn to left or right

     It does the same with all its might;

     It looks so ugly and so black

     When o’er my shoulder I look back.

     Sometimes it runs ahead of me,

     Sometimes quite short it seems to be,

     And then again it’s very tall;

     I don’t know what it is at all.

     I’ll climb into my little bed,

     And on my pillow lay my bead,

     For when I’m there I never see

     That thing in front or back of me.