A Pocket Full of Posies
Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
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.