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It is seven o’clock in the morning. Mr Wolf is woken up by four and twenty blackbirds.

‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ they tweet. ‘It’s time for blackbird pie,’ yawns Mr Wolf.


It is seven o’clock in the morning. Mr Wolf is woken up by four and twenty blackbirds.

‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ they tweet. ‘It’s time for blackbird pie,’ yawns Mr Wolf.


S A H R ! C goes the door of the wooden house.

It is eight o’clock in the morning. All Mr Wolf’s neighbours slam their doors on their way to work.

B

G ! N A

goes the door of the stone house.

U D H ! T

goes the door of the straw house. ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ giggle the three little pigs. ‘It’s time for bacon sandwiches,’ mutters Mr Wolf.


S A H R ! C goes the door of the wooden house.

It is eight o’clock in the morning. All Mr Wolf’s neighbours slam their doors on their way to work.

B

G ! N A

goes the door of the stone house.

U D H ! T

goes the door of the straw house. ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ giggle the three little pigs. ‘It’s time for bacon sandwiches,’ mutters Mr Wolf.


About time too, thinks Mr Wolf, running to the door.

It is nine o’clock in the morning.

Here comes the post girl in her little red hood.

But there is nothing for Mr Wolf – not so much as a card!

Poor Mr Wolf.


About time too, thinks Mr Wolf, running to the door.

It is nine o’clock in the morning.

Here comes the post girl in her little red hood.

But there is nothing for Mr Wolf – not so much as a card!

Poor Mr Wolf.

What's the Time, Mr Wolf? By Debi Gliori  

A sneak peek of What' s the Time, Mr Wolf by Debi Gliori

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