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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 Handkerchee. 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; Poor Jim Jay. |