There was an owl lived in an oak,
Wisky, wasky, weedle;
And every word he ever spoke
Was fiddle, faddle, feedle.
A gunner chanced to come that way,
Wisky, wasky, weedle;
Says he, "I'll shoot you, silly bird."
Fiddle, faddle, feedle.
Nursery Rhyme. Dxvii. Natural History
Unknown
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Poem topics: bird, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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