There was an old woman tossed up in a blanket
Seventeen times as high as the moon.
But where she was going， no mortal could tell it，
For under her arm， she carried a broom.
“Old woman， old woman， old woman，” quoth I，
“Whither， ah whither， ah whither so high？”
“To sweep the cobwebs from the sky.”
“May I come with you？”
“Aye， by and by.”