John McCullagh March 10, 2006
DesertedHouse.jpg

‘Eenie meenie, monie my

Bessalooney, boney, stry

Hare, ware, crown, nack

Alko, balco, wee wo wack!’

No classic stanzas laid before us

E’en by master’s hand, can thrall

Cannot thrill us, and implore us

Like that far-off echoing call.


There is throb of joy and frolic

Sweetness of the days gone by

Trembling in each ringing rollic

Of our ‘eenie, monie, my’.

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