There was an old woman, tossed up in a basket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon;
Where she was going, I couldn’t but ask her
For in her hand she carried a broom.
Old woman, old woman, old woman, quoth I,
Where are you going to up so high?
To brush the cobwebs off the sky!
May I go with you?
Yes, by-and-by.
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