Merry Milly Mollycot

by Solveig Paulson Russell

Merry Milly Mollycot,

Upon the first of May,

Shook out her sheets and swept the floor

And then was heard to say,

“My work is done, I’ll do no more;

I’m tired of toil and taskets.

I’m off into the forest lands

To make some May Day baskets!”

And off she went a-tripping light

Where trees stood all around,

And various things and sundry

Were growing from the ground.

She took some bark, she took some moss,

She took some leaves and tendrils;

She took some threads from fern fronds

And tender willow bendrils.

And these she wove this way and that

And shaped them square and rounded,

Then piled them high with posies sweet

That in the grass she founded.

Then Merry Milly Mollycot,

She hung her baskets high

Upon the lamp posts of the town

Where every passerby

Could see them and admire them

And say with smiling eyes,

“These must be Merry Milly’s work—

A First-of-May surprise!”

Merry Milly Mollycot,

She grinned a Cheshire grin

And chuckled so her dimples

Kept ducking out and in.

Then up she danced a hornypipe

And sang, “I am the lady

Who made these bits of handiwork

To welcome in sweet May Day!”

And then she bowed and curtsied,

Turned a cartwheel on the spot,

While all the people laughed and cheered

For Milly Mollycot.

Illustrated by Phyllis Luch