Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay
Got stuck fast, In Yesterday.
Squinting he was, On cross-legs bent,
Never heeding, The wind was spent.

Round veered the weathercock, The sun drew in
And stuck was Jim, Like a rusty pin….
We pulled and we pulled, From seven till twelve,
Jim, too frightened, to help himself.

But all in vain. The clock struck one,
And there was Jim, A little bit gone
At half past five, You scarce could see
A glimpse of his flapping Handerkerchee.

And when came noon, And we climbed sky-high,
Jim was a speck Slip–slipping by.
Come tomorrow, The neighbours say,
He’ll be past crying for; Poo Jim Jay.