As we sat outside this evening watching the seasonal flocks of Starlings flow into the mighty oaks just north of the property, the phrase “four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie…” came to mind. Mz.D then started in with several Mother Goose rhymes, only remembering parts. I of course had to launch into one of these childhood goodies thinking I could spew the lines as if I was 12 again. This is how it went:

Little Jack Horner
sat in the corner
eating his curds and whey.
Along came a spider
and sat down be side him
and said, “You must be cross-dressing today.”

It worked for me at the time.

Of course any good wife needs to put her silly husband back on track and she promptly went to find one of her childhood books, The Real Mother Goose. I love that title… The REAL Mother Goose. Don’t go mistakin’ this book for no JIVE replica now! It’s the real deal! The first printing of this fine periodical was back in 1916. What really makes the prose jump are these killer illustrations by Blanche Fisher Wright [Index here]

So now after K’ma gets home she joins in this conversation and proceeds to fetch HER childhood book of the Carolyn Wells Edition of Mother Goose. This book has long lost it’s hard cover (from heavy reading no doubt, as opposed to little teeth and saliva and the occasional use as a make shift hammer) and dates back 50+ years.

The point of all of this, as if there WAS one, is that upon closer inspection of nursery rhyme content, one can gather a slightly macabre and dark message which runs like a common denominator through each happy, sing-song poem.

I leave you with a short example:

Cry, Baby

Cry, baby, cry,
Put your finger in your eye,
And tell your mother it wasn’t I.