There was an old lady of Ipswich,
Who took afternoon tea in a ditch;
There came rats and a snake,
And the possums brought cake,
Those merry tea drinkers of Ipswich.
There was an old man of the wild,
Who encountered a petulant child;
He gave her to the owls,
‘Cause they were his pals,
And they’d bring her up right in the wild.
There was an old lady whose garden,
Bloomed on a plot that was golden;
Her strawberries grew,
With a yellowish hue,
In that mystical, treasure filled garden.