Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay
Got stuck fast, In Yesterday.
Squinting he was, On cross-legs bent,
Never heeding, The wind was spent.
Round veered the weathercock, The sun drew in
And stuck was Jim, Like a rusty pin....
We pulled and we pulled, From seven till twelve,
Jim, too frightened, to help himself.
But all in vain. The clock struck one,
And there was Jim, A little bit gone
At half past five, You scarce could see
A glimpse of his flapping Handerkerchee.
And when came noon, And we climbed sky-high,
Jim was a speck Slip--slipping by.
Come tomorrow, The neighbours say,
He'll be past crying for; Poo Jim Jay.
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