Little General Monk
Sat upon a trunk,
Eating a crust of bread;
There fell a hot coal
And burnt in his clothes a hole,
Now General Monk is dead.
Keep always from the fire:
If it catch your attire,
You too, like Monk, will be dead.
Nursery Rhyme. Xxviii. Historical
Unknown
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Poem topics: fire, bread, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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