but in her hand she carried a broom.
Old woman, old woman, old woman, said I,
O whither, O whither, O whither so high?
To sweep the cobwebs from the sky,
And I shall be back again by and by.


Shoe the horse, and shoe the mare,
But let the little colt go bare.


The North wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then?
Poor thing!
He'll sit in the barn
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing!


Cold and raw the North winds blow
Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winter's now come fairly.


Hey, my kitten, my kitten,
And hey my kitten my deary,
Such a sweet pet as this