Posted on 11/25/2009 3:34:24 PM PST by The Ignorant Fisherman
Thanksgiving Street
I knew a man whose name was Horner Who used to live in grumble corner; Grumble corner in crosspatch town And he never was seen without a frown. He grumbled at this, and he grumbled at that, He growled at the dog. He growled at the cat. He grumbled at morning. He grumbled at night, And to grumble and growl was his chief delight. He grumbled so much at his wife that she Began to grumble as well as he. And all the children, wherever they went, Reflected their parents discontent. If the sky was dark and betokened rain, Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain. And if there was not a cloud about, He grumbled because of a threatened drought. His meals were never to suit his taste, He grumbled at having to eat in haste. The bread was poor, or the meat was tough, Or else he hadn't had half enough. No matter how hard his wife would try To please her husband, with scornful eye He'd look around and then with a scowl At something or other he'd begin to growl.
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