There was an old woman tossed up in a blanket
Seventeen times as high as the moon.
But where she was going, no mortal could tell it,
For under her arm, she carried a broom.
“Old woman, old woman, old woman,” quoth I,
“Whither, ah whither, ah whither so high?”
“To sweep the cobwebs from the sky.”
“May I come with you?”
“Aye, by and by.”
