Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/113

 NN, Ann!
 * Come! quick as you can!

There's a fish that talks
 * In the frying-pan.

Out of the fat,
 * As clear as glass,

He put up his mouth
 * And moaned "Alas!"

Oh, most mournful,
 * "Alas, alack!"

Then turned to his sizzling,
 * And sank him back.