A grasshopper lay in the garden one day,
Near a cabbage—I mean cabbage-rose—
And his eyes had no snap, and his legs they were stiff,
And turned very much up were his toes—
Dear me!
His funny, incurvated toes.
Along came a bird—Mrs. Sparrow her name—
And she paused and shook sadly her head,
And said, "Once at hops none could beat you, but now
Even I could—because you are dead—
Dear me!
Alas! you're doornailedly dead.
"But you shall not lie there unburied, for oft
Through the night have you sang loud and shrill,
And watched while I slept; so if nobody else
Will bury you, G.H., I will—
Dear me!
'Tis a sad thing to do, but I will."
Wide she opened her mouth—he was gone in a trice—
Then she quietly hopped out of sight;
And the cabbage-rose laughed till half its leaves dropped,
As I think with good reason it might—
Dear me!
With the very best reason it might.