by bhavye budhiraja
THE moon is shining o'er the field,
A little breeze is blowing,
The radish leaves are crisp and green,
The lettuces are growing.
The owl is in the ivy-bush,
With both his eyes a-winking;
The rabbit shakes his little tail,
And sits him down a-thinking--
"Oh ! where are all the dormice gone ?
And are the frogs a-vooing ?
Will no one come to play with me ?
What are they all a-doing ?"
Poor little rabbit, all alone,
Don't let the master meet you ;
He'll shoot you with his little gun,
And merrily he'll eat you !