here was an old woman tossed up in a basket, Nineteen times as high as the moon; Where she was going I couldn’t but ask it, For in her hand she carried a broom. “Old woman, old woman, old woman,” quoth I, “Oh whither, oh whither, oh whither so high?” “To brush the cobwebs off the sky!” “Shall I go with thee?” “Aye, by-and-by.” Read more →