When the midnight strikes in the belfry dark
And the white goose quakes at the fox’s bark
We saddle the horse that is hayless, oatless
Hoofless and pranceless, kickless and coatless
We canter off for a midnight prowl
Whoo-hoo-hoo, says the hook-eared owl.
Time and tide and buttered eggs wait for no man.



No comments:
Post a Comment