On a tree by a river a little tomtit <br />Sang "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!" <br />And I said to him, "Dicky-bird, why do you sit <br />Singing 'Willow, titwillow, titwillow'? <br />Is it weakness of intellect, birdie?" I cried, <br />"Or a rather tough worm in your little inside?" <br />With a shake of his poor little head he replied, <br />"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" <br /> <br />He slapped at his chest, as he sat on that bough, <br />Singing "Willow, titwillow, titwillow!" <br />And a cold perspiration bespangled his brow, <br />Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow! <br />He sobbed and he sighed, and a gurgle he gave, <br />Then he threw himself into the billowy wave, <br />And an echo arose from the suicide's grave - <br />"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" <br /> <br />Now I feel just as sure as I'm sure that my name <br />Isn't Willow, titwillow, titwillow, <br />That 'twas blighted affection that made him exclaim, <br />"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!" <br />And if you remain callous and obdurate, I <br />Shall perish as he did, and you will know why, <br />Though I probably shall not exclaim as I die, <br />"Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!"<br /><br />William Schwenck Gilbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-suicide-s-grave/
