I
SUMMER evenings, when it's warm, In the yard we sit and swing: And it's better than a farm, Watching how the fireflies swarm, Listening to the crickets sing, And the katydids that cry, "Katy did n't! Katy did!" In the trees and flowers hid. So I ask my father, "Why? What's the thing she did n't do? " — For he told me that he knew: —
"Katy did n't like to worry; But she did so like to talk; Gossip of herself and talk; Katy did n't like to hurry; But she did so like to walk; Saunter by herself and walk. — How is that now for a story?"