His little legs were wobbly, his strength was nearly spent,
And so he turned around again and here's the way he went--
Back away from desert lands feet and feet across,
Back along the bracken bridge bending in the moss,
Through the fearful forest grass shutting out the sky,
Up a mighty mountain range seven inches high,
Down a gloomy gully, where he loathed to be alone,
Up and down a fern frond and round and round a stone.
A dreary ant, a weary ant, resolved no more to roam,
He staggered up the garden path and popped back home.



RIDING SONG

Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop!
Here comes the butcher to bring us a chop
Cantering, cantering down the wide street
On his little bay mare with the funny white feet;
Cantering, cantering out to the farm,
Stripes on his apron and basket on arm.
Run to the window and tell him to stop--
Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop!



THE FUNNY HATTER

Harry was a funny man, Harry was a hatter;
He ate his lunch at breakfast time and said it didn't matter.