Who killed Cock Robin?

"Who killed Cock Robin?" "I," said the Sparrow,
"With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."

"Who saw him die?" "I," said the Fly,
"With my little eye, I saw him die."

"Who caught his blood?" "I," said the Fish,
"With my little dish, I caught his blood."

"Who'll make the shroud?" "I," said the Beetle,
"With my thread and needle, I'll make the shroud."

"Who'll dig his grave?" "I," said the Owl,
"With my pick and shovel, I'll dig his grave."

"Who'll be the parson?" "I," said the Rook,
"With my little book, I'll be the parson."

"Who'll be the clerk?" "I," said the Lark,
"If it's not in the dark, I'll be the clerk."

"Who'll carry the link?" "I," said the Linnet,
"I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the link."

"Who'll be chief mourner?" "I," said the Dove,
"I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner."

"Who'll carry the coffin?" "I," said the Kite,
"If it's not through the night, I'll carry the coffin."

"Who'll bear the pall? "We," said the Wren,
"Both the cock and the hen, we'll bear the pall."

"Who'll sing a psalm?" "I," said the Thrush,
"As she sat on a bush, I'll sing a psalm."

"Who'll toll the bell?" "I," said the bull,
"Because I can pull, I'll toll the bell."

All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
When they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin.

Poem On His Birthday

Dylan Thomas

In the mustardseed sun,
By full tilt river and switchback sea
Where cormorants scud,
In his house on stilts high among beaks
And palavers of birds
This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave
He celebrates and spurns
His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age;
Herons spire and spear.

First verse of 'Poem on his birthday' by Dylan Thomas
taken from 'Miscellany Two'