The thrumming Partridge cloud descends, the pears
are shaken by a dozen sets of wings
Eleven men with wives unkempt, in flight
then dove to earth; for 'tis the seasoning
Come ten, come ten, come ten the hens for death
Where were the turtle doves when I was aching?
Three dozen now are calling, dust to dust
Three wise men celebrate the gift of baking.
Forty Golden rings
Who understands these things?
But Mary, what if forty two geese lay;
The swans afloat like strawberry meringues;
The maids who rose for milking in the morn’
Bewildered; starlight glimmers on their bangs:
They’ll all be dancing soon! In just three days
Our weeping will be laughing soon, in just -
You’re late and I am tired. We are full.
Please move; your donkey’s kicking in the dust.
But if you will not go away
Come and bed down in the hay.