Sarah Cynthia Sylvia bière, stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of acide, sure cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, pêche, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . .
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . .
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
cacahuète, arachide butter, caked and dry,
Curdled lait and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with citron custard,
Cold french fried and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That it finally touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her Friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia bière, stout said,
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!"
But then, of course, it was too late. . .
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot now relate
Because the heure is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah bière, stout
And always take the garbage out!
Shel Silverstein, 1974
I apologize for it being so long
--------------------------------------------------
"The Meehoo With An Exactlywatt"
par Shel Silverstein
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Me!
Me who?
That's right!
What's right?
Meehoo!
That's what I want to know!
What's what toi want to know?
Me, who?
Yes, exactly!
Exactly what?
Yes, I have an Exactlywatt on a chain!
Exactly what on a chain?
Yes!
Yes what?
No, Exactlywatt!
That's what I want to know!
I told toi - Exactlywatt!
Exactly what?
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes, it's with me!
What's with you?
Exactlywatt - that's what's with me.
Me who?
Yes!
Go away!
Knock knock...
--------------------------------------------------
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had Lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in feu ou citron vert . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams toi too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If toi could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, amer as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, toi would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918
Poem: Dulce Et Decorum Est (About World War 1, the gas warfare)
The End
Would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of acide, sure cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, pêche, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . .
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . .
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
cacahuète, arachide butter, caked and dry,
Curdled lait and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with citron custard,
Cold french fried and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That it finally touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her Friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia bière, stout said,
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!"
But then, of course, it was too late. . .
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot now relate
Because the heure is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah bière, stout
And always take the garbage out!
Shel Silverstein, 1974
I apologize for it being so long
--------------------------------------------------
"The Meehoo With An Exactlywatt"
par Shel Silverstein
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Me!
Me who?
That's right!
What's right?
Meehoo!
That's what I want to know!
What's what toi want to know?
Me, who?
Yes, exactly!
Exactly what?
Yes, I have an Exactlywatt on a chain!
Exactly what on a chain?
Yes!
Yes what?
No, Exactlywatt!
That's what I want to know!
I told toi - Exactlywatt!
Exactly what?
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes, it's with me!
What's with you?
Exactlywatt - that's what's with me.
Me who?
Yes!
Go away!
Knock knock...
--------------------------------------------------
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had Lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in feu ou citron vert . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams toi too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If toi could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, amer as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, toi would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918
Poem: Dulce Et Decorum Est (About World War 1, the gas warfare)
The End
