Mother Hubbard's Cupboard

The spider sits in his spider bed
aluminizing silken thread
till looped and lustrous silver wire
is a Jacob’s ladder of desire,
and a handy packaged wing and brain
is what the lovely moth became.

Oh, riddle me, riddle me, riddle me ree,
the light’s so bright I cannot see.

The bumblebee’s embezzling sags
his Midas knees like moneybags.
His pleasing voice is so designed
to further what he has in mind
that his woozy rose is rousing, wan,
with a headache and her honey gone.

Oh, riddle me, riddle me, riddle me ree,
the fog’s so thick I cannot see.

The serpent slithers to a coil
of sinuous black as suave as oil,
in a wedding ring no one believes
but a spellbound bunny so naïve
she doesn’t know it’s time to go
till too far in his bungalow.

Oh, riddle me, riddle me, riddle me ree,
the dawn’s so deep I cannot see.

This Love’s a babe that combs her hair
and weeps for Johnny too long at the fair;
this Love learns ABC’s in time
to hang a scalp on a nursery rhyme;
and down the alley the morning comes
for the garbage cans of wings and thumbs.

Oh, riddle me, riddle me, riddle me ree,
the road’s so dark I cannot see.