For Corns And Things

Prune your corn in the gray of the morn With a blade that’s shaved the dead, And barefoot go and hide it so The rain will rust it red: Dip your foot in the dew and put A print of it on the floor, And stew the fat of a brindle cat, And say this o’er and o’er:— Corny! morny! blady! dead! Gory! sory! rusty! red! Footsy! putsy! floory! stew! Fatsy! catsy! Mew! Mew! Come grease my corn In the gray of the morn! Mew! Mew! Mew!