This is the bed within the shoe,
That the children got in, two by two,
Urged by the stick so long and thick,
That followed the broth so weak and thin,
With never a bit of bread therein,
Made for the children, quite a score—
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more—
Who worried the dame without a name,
Who Lived in the Shoe.
And this is the end of a tale that is true,
Of a wonderful bed in a wonderful shoe,
That the children got in, two by two,
Urged by the stick so long and thick,
That followed the broth so weak and thin,
With never a bit of bread therein,
Made for the children, quite a score—
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more—
Who worried the dame without a name,
Who Lived in the Shoe.
