I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.
I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such a wonderous voice.
Puzzly puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but have no choice.
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.
Such softly singing lulled me to sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.
Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might.
'I thought you were a lady'.
I giggle - well I may,
To my surprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.
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YOU ARE READING
JOHN LENNON In His Own Write
Historia Corta'this correction of short writty is the most wonderfoul larf I've ever ready' ABOUT THE AWFUL ---------- I was bored on the 9th of octover 1940 when, I believe, the nasties were still booming us led by Madalf Heatlump (who only had one). Any...
