Classic Poem

A little boy named Thomas ate
Hot buckwheat cakes for tea—
A very rash proceeding, as
We presently shall see.

He went to bed at eight o'clock,
As all good children do,
But scarce had closed his little eyes,
When he most restless grew.

He flopped on this side, then on that,
Then keeled upon his head,
And covered all at once each spot
Of his wee trundle-bed.

He wrapped one leg around his waist
And t' other round his ear,
While mamma wondered what on earth
Could all her little dear.

But sound he slept, and as he slept
He dreamt an awful dream
Of being spanked with hickory slabs
Without the power to scream.

He dreamt a great big lion came
And ripped and raved and roared—
While on his breast two furious bulls
In mortal combat gored.

He dreamt he heard the flop of wings
Within the chimney-flue—
And down there crawled, to gnaw his ears,
An awful bugaboo!

When Thomas rose next morn, his face
Was pallid as a sheet;
“I nevermore,” he firmly said,
“Will cakes for supper eat!”