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Ladybug, Ladybug,
you lie there so still,
outside my window,
on the edge of the sill.
Your small wings are broken,
you look rather ill,
I'll mend them with cobwebs,
and send you no bill.
Dewdrops I'll gather,
beyond yonder hill,
where wee folks are singing,
in sweet fairy trill.
I'll mix you a potion,
from crushed elfin pill,
you'll come back to life
with this spritely swill.
I'll feed your sick tummy,
with fresh garden dill,
eat as much as you like,
and nibble your fill.
When feeling better,
you'll fly to near mill,
rejoining your friends,
in mutual thrill.
Alas, my dear Ladybug,
If you remain ill,
May I suggest,
You make out your will?
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