A Pocket Full of Posies

Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.

 

Children in their beds

The pain was getting worse,

The rash would spread, from toes to head

The disease was considered a curse.

 

The spots covering their bodies

Were blistering and sore,

Deprived of sleep, their sores would weep

Lumps and bumps became raw.

 

So tired and delirious

They would sleep all day or cry,

Lumps and bumps, swellings and mumps 

They could only wait to die,

 

The cows that were in the meadows

Still ate the buttercups all day,

But didn’t know of the poor children

Who were slowly dying from the plague.

 

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© Stephanie Boddy