Cinderella; Or, The Little Glass Slipper, and Other Stories

WHAT IS IT?

     What is that ugly thing I see
     Which follows, follows, follows me,
     Which ever way I turn or go?
     What is that thing? I want to know.

     If I but turn to left or right
     It does the same with all its might;
     It looks so ugly and so black
     When o’er my shoulder I look back.

     Sometimes it runs ahead of me,
     Sometimes quite short it seems to be,
     And then again it’s very tall;
     I don’t know what it is at all.

     I’ll climb into my little bed,
     And on my pillow lay my bead,
     For when I’m there I never see
     That thing in front or back of me.