by Eliza Brooks
To town our mother did go,
And left us here alone;
But we did not mind staying home,
for we found a ham with a bone.
At our home some men did stop
And our trees they proceeded to chop.
The men, they left in a hurry,
And out to our trees we did scurry.
We cried for the trees, and wept on our knees
For the terrible deed that was done.
