ONE, TWO, THREE.

One, two, three, a bonny boat I see,

A silver boat and all afloat upon a rosy sea.

One, two, three, the riddle tell to me.

The moon afloat is the bonny boat, the sunset is the sea.

—Margaret Johnson.

Three little bugs in a basket,

And hardly room for two;

And one was yellow, and one was black,

And one like me or you;

The space was small, no doubt, for all,

So what should the three bugs do?

Three little bugs in a basket,

And hardly crumbs for two;

And all were selfish in their hearts,

The same as I or you.

So the strong one said, “We will eat the bread,

And that’s what we will do!”

Three little bugs in a basket,

And the beds but two could hold;

And so they fell to quarreling—

The white, the black, and the gold—

And two of the bugs got under the rugs,

And one was out in the cold.

He that was left in the basket,

Without a crumb to chew,

Or a thread to wrap himself withal,

When the wind across him blew,

Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs,

And so the quarrel grew.

So there was war in the basket;

Ah! pity ’tis, ’tis true!

But he that was frozen and starved, at last

A strength from his weakness drew,

And pulled the rugs from both the bugs,

And killed and ate them, too!

Now when bugs live in a basket,

Though more than it well can hold,

It seems to me they had better agree—

The black, the white, and the gold—

And share what comes of beds and crumbs,

And leave no bug in the cold.

—Alice Cary.