Showing posts with label bedtime stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bedtime stories. Show all posts

Friday, November 23, 2007

For Heather

Driving By Food On A Long Afternoon

Where the food is I think I know.
We must get off the freeway though;
We will not find it driving here
Yet one more exit we must go.
My little tummy must think it queer
Not to stop with a restaurant near
Zooming on past exit ninety-three
We've missed all the food I fear.
Perhaps this hunger will kill me.
Plenty of restaurants we could see
Now the only sight's the street
My tummy grumbles from my seat.
Still I have consumed no meat,
And miles to go before I eat,
And miles to go before I eat.

Here's Robert Frost's original. And I will take suggestions, there are a couple of awkward lines.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Blog Hog

So, I'm a blog hog today, sorry. I've been working on my collection of family bedtime stories and I am so much amused by what I have come up with for Daniel running into the wall that I want to share.

Wee Uncle Daniel runs through the house,

Up stairs and down stairs fast as a mouse,

Laughing at the motion, running for the wall

How could the boy again mistake the ending of the hall?


Weary is the mother who has a klutzy child,

A small short little child, who runs into the wall

Who always brings a battle with disbelieving nurses

"Are you sure these cuts and bruises did not come with curses?"


A later verse of Wee Willie Winkie:

Weary is the mother who has a dusty child,
A small short little child, who can't run on his own,
Who always has a battle with sleep before he'll close an eye
But a kiss from his rosy lips gives strength anew to me.

So, please use the comments field to let me know what you think.