The Farmer's Widow

Where is pudding-pie, my love?
Where is baby bunting?
Did they wander into the woods
On a lark gone spelunking?

The wind is gathering its wits
Come shrieking from the West
A gale to flatten the corn
And toss the apple barrel asunder

Hide the children in the cellar
Yes, bolt and lock the door
I say, hide yourselves in the cellar
Lest I see you no more

I go to seek our pudding-pie
To return with baby-bunting, too
The winds draweth nigh
And the woods are deep

Lost to the ages
Were the farmer and his keep
His widow lived alone through her years
Stahl Stahl
31-35, M
Jul 20, 2010