Walter de la Mare

Jim Jay

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


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.