Ladybird, ladybird...

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire and your children are gone,
All except one and her name is Ann,
And she crept under the frying pan.



I remember this poem from when I was little girl, but only the first two lines.

It is a nice rhyme as rhyming goes, but wouldnt it be awful for the poor little ladybird to hear this about her family.

I found her walking up and down on a bar on a gate quite content, so I took some photographs of her.

Dont think her house was on fire though....