 A Thanksgiving Dream by Joseph Crosby-Lincoln, read for LibriVox.org by Anita Saloma-Martinez I'm pretty nearly certain that it was about two weeks ago. It might be more or perhaps twas less, but anyhow I know it was on the night I ate the four big saucers of ice cream that I dreamed just the horriblest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that twas Thanksgiving, and I saw our table laid with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made, with turkey and with puddin' and with everything but gee, twas dreadful because they was alive and set and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks and he says, you boy take care, for if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night, I'll throw off all the blankets, and I'll pull away the sheet, I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly-tickly feet, I'll kick you and I'll pick you and I'll screech, remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy, that gobbler says, says he. And then a fat plum puddin' kinder grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steaming and I'm heavier than lead. And if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way, I'll thump you and I'll bump you and I'll jump up high and fall down on your little stomach like a sizzling cannonball. I'll hound you and I'll pound you and I'll screech, remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy, that puddin' says, says he. And then soon as the puddin' stopped a crusty old mince pie jumped from its plate and glared at me and winked its little eye. You, boy, it says Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice of me, for if you do I'll come and cramp you like a thys, I'll root you and I'll boot you and I'll twist you till you squeal, I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel, I'll hunt you and I'll punch you and I'll screech, remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see. You wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget, but say today's Thanksgiving and I've et and et and et. And when I'd stuffed just all I could, I jumped and gave a stream, because all at once, when twas too late, I remembered about that dream. And now it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers and tell the folks goodnight and go a-poking off upstairs, but oh, my sakes I dassent, because I know them things'll be all hidein' somewheres round my bed and layin' there for me. And if poem this recording is in the public domain. A Thanksgiving Dream By Joseph Crosby Lincoln Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kachuk I'm pretty nearly certain that twas about two weeks ago. It might be more or perhaps twas less, but anyhow I know. Twas on the night I ate the four big saucers of ice-cream, that I dreamed just the horriblest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that twas Thanksgiving and I saw our table laid, with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made, with turkey and with pudding, and with everything. But gee, twas dreadful, cos they was alive, and set and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler, that was on a platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks and he says, you boy, take care, for if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night, I'll throw off all the blankets and I'll pull away the sheet, I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly tickly feet, I'll kick you and I'll pick you and I'll screech, remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy, that gobbler says, says he. And then a fat plum pudding, kinder grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steamin' and I'm heavier than lead, and if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way, I'll thump you and I'll bump you and I'll jump up high and fall, down on your little stomach like a sizzlin' cannonball, I'll hound you and I'll pound you and I'll screech, remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy, that puddin' says, says he. And then soon as the puddin' stopped, a crusty old mince pie jumped from its plate and glared at me and winked its little eye. You boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice of me, for if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vice, I'll root you and I'll boot you and I'll twist you till you squeal, I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel, I'll hunch you and I'll punch you and I'll screech, remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see, you wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget, but say, today's Thanksgiving and I've had, and had, and had, and when I'd stuffed just all I could, I jumped and gave a scream, because all at once, when it was too late, I membered about that dream, and now it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers, and tell the folks, good night, and go a-poken off upstairs, but oh, my sakes, I decent, because I know them things'll be, I'll hide in somewheres, round my bed, and lay in there, for me. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain, a Thanksgiving dream by Joseph Crosby Lincoln, read for Librebox.org by Chad Warner from Librebox. I'm pretty nearly certain that that was about two weeks ago, it might be more, or perhaps it was less, but anyhow I know it was on the night I ate the four bags sausage of ice cream, that I dreamed just the horribleest, most awful, worstest dream, I dreamed that was Thanksgiving, and I saw our table-aid with every kind of goodie that, I guess, was ever made, with turkey, and with pudding, and with everything but ghee, it was dreadful, because they was alive, and set and looked at me, and then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks, and he says, you boy, take care, for if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night, I'll throw off all the blankets, and I'll pull away the sheet, I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly tickly feet, I'll kick you and I'll pick you, and I'll screech you, remember me, you wear my boy, take care, my boy, that goldware says, says he, and then a fat plum, pudding, kinder, grunted like, and said, I'm round and hot and steaming, and I'm heavier than lead, and if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way, I'll thump you and I'll bump you, and I'll jump up high and fall down on your little stomach, like a sizzling cannonball, I'll hide you and I'll find you, and I'll screech you, remember me, but wear my boy, take care of my boy, that pudding says, says he, and then soon as the pudding stopped, I'll crusty old mince pie, jump from its plate, and glared at me and winked its little eye, you boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice of me, for if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vice, I'll rip you and I'll bit you, and I'll twist you till you squail, I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a whale, I'll hunch you, and I'll punch you, and I'll screech you, remember me, I don't know what came after that, because I woke up you and say you wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget, but say, today's Thanksgiving, and I've ate and ate and ate, and when I'd stuffed just all I could, I jumped and I gave a scream, because all at once, when it was too late, I remembered about that dream, and now it's almost bedtime, and they opt to say my prayers, and tell the folks good night, and go a-poken off upstairs, but oh, my sakes, I didn't, because I know them things'll be all hiding somewhere, round my bed and lying there for me. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. A Thanksgiving Dream by Joseph Crosby Lincoln, read fullybrewox.org by Graham Scott Cheltenham, England. GrahamScottAudio.com. I'm pretty nearly certain that was about two weeks ago, it might be more or perhaps it was less, but anyhow I know it was on the night I ate the four big sources of ice cream, that I dreamed just the horribleest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that was Thanksgiving, and I saw our table laid with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made, with turkey and with pudding and with everything, but gee, it was dreadful, because they was alive and set and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks and he says, you boy, take care, for if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll throw off all the blankets and I'll pull away the sheet, I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly, tickly feet, I'll kick you and I'll pick you and I'll screech, remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy, that gobbler says, says he. And then a fat plum pudding kind of grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steaming and I'm heavier than lead. And if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way. I'll thump you and I'll bump you and I'll jump up high and fall down on your little stomach like a sizzling cannonball. I'll hound you and I'll pound you and I'll screech, remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy, that pudding says, says he. And then soon as the pudding stopped across the old mince pie jumped from its plate and glared at me and winked its little eye. You boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice of me, for if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vice. I'll root you and I'll boot you and I'll twist you till you squeal. I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel. I'll hunch you and I'll punch you and I'll screech, remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see. You wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget, but say, today's Thanksgiving and I've eaten neat, neat, and when I'd stuffed just all I could I jumped and gave a scream, because all at once, when twas too late, I remembered about that dream. And now it's almost bedtime and I ought to say my prayers and tell the folks good night and go a-poking off upstairs. But, oh, my sakes, I dassent, because I know them things'll be all hiding somewhere round my bed and laying there for me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Thanksgiving Dream by Joseph Krasby Lincoln. Read for LibriVox.org by Jim Gallagher. I'm pretty nearly certain that it was about two weeks ago. It might be more, or perhaps it was less. But anyhow, I know it was on the night I ate the four big saucers of ice cream, that I dream just the horribleest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that it was Thanksgiving and I saw our table laid with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made. With turkey and with pudding and with everything, but gee, it was dreadful because they was alive and set and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks and he says, you boy, take care, for if Thanksgiving Day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll throw off all the blankets and I'll pull away the sheet. I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly, tickly feet. I'll kick you and I'll pick you and I'll scream, remember me. Beware my boy, take care of my boy, that gobbler says, says he. And then a big fat plum pudding kinder grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steaming and I'm heavier than lead. And if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving Day, I'll come up at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way. I'll thump you and I'll bump you and I'll jump up high and fall, down on your little stomach like a sizzling cannonball. I'll hound you and I'll pound you and I'll screech, remember me. Beware my boy, take care of my boy, that pudding says, says he. And then, just soon as the pudding stopped, I crossed the old mince pie, jumped from its plate and glared at me and winked its little eye. You boy, it says, Thanksgiving Day, don't dare to touch a slice of me, for if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vice. I'll root you and I'll boot you and I'll twist you till you squeal. I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel. I'll hunch you and I'll punch you and I'll screech, remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see. You wouldn't believe the talk like that one ever could forget. But say, today's Thanksgiving and I've had, and had, and had. And when I had stuffed just all I could, I jumped and gave a scream, because all at once, when it was too late, I remembered about that dream. And now it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers, until the folks good night and go a-poking off upstairs. But all my sakes, I dastard, because I know them things will be all hiding somewhere around my bed and laying there for me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Thanksgiving Dream by Joseph Crosby Lincoln Read for LibriVox.org by Joseph Campbell I'm pretty nearly certain that it was about two weeks ago. Might be more, or perhaps it was less, but anyhow I know. It was on the night I ate the four big saucers of ice cream that I dreamed just the horribleest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that it was Thanksgiving, and I saw our table-aid with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made. With turkey, and with pudding, and with everything, but gee, it was dreadful, because they was alive and set and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there. He stood up on his drumsticks, and he says, You boy, take care. For if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll throw off all the blankets, and I'll pull away the sheet. I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly tickly feet. I'll kick you, and I'll pick you, and I'll screech. Remember me. Beware, my boy, take care, my boy. That gobbler says, says he. And then a fat plum-pudding kinder grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steaming, and I'm heavier than lead. And if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way. I'll thump you, and I'll bump you, and I'll jump up high and fall down on your little stomach like a sizzling cannonball. I'll hound you, and I'll pound you, and I'll screech. Remember me. Beware, my boy, take care, my boy. That puddin says, says he. And then soon as the puddin stopped a crusty old mince pie, jumped from its plate and glared at me and winked its little eye. You boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare touch a slice of me. For if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vice. I'll root you, and I'll boot you, and I'll twist you till you squeal. I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel. I'll hunch you, and I'll punch you, and I'll screech. Remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see. You wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget. But say, today's Thanksgiving, and I've ate and ate and ate. And when I stuffed just all I could, I jumped and gave a scream, because all at once, when it was too late, I remembered about that dream. And now it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers, and tell the folks goodnight and go pokin' off upstairs. But all my sakes I danced, because I know them things'll be all hidein' somewheres round my bed and layin' there for me. Into poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Thanksgiving Dream by Joseph Crosby Lincoln Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson I'm pretty nearly certain that it was about two weeks ago. It might be more, or perhaps it was less. But anyhow, I know it was on the night that I ate four big saucers of ice cream, that I dreamed just the horriblest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that it was Thanksgiving, and I saw our table laid with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made, with turkey and with puddin' and with everything. But gee, it was dreadful, because they was alive, and Seton looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on the platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks, and he says, You boy, take care. For a Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white. I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll throw off all the blankets. I'll pull away the sheet. I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly tickly feet. I'll kick you, and I'll pick you, and I'll screech. Remember me. Beware, my boy. Take care, my boy," the gobbler says, says he, and then a fat plum puddin', kind of grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steaming, and I'm heavier than lead. And if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way. I'll thump you, and I'll bump you, and I'll jump up high and fall down on your little stomach like a sizzling cannon ball. I'll hound you, and I'll pound you, and I'll screech. Remember me. Beware, my boy. Take care, my boy," that puddin' says, says he, and then soon as the puddin' stopped, thrust the old men's pie jumped up from its plate and glared at me and winked at its little eye. You, boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice of me, for if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vice. I'll root you, and I'll boot you, and I'll twist you till you squeal. I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel. I'll hunt you, and I'll punch you, and I'll screech. Remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see. You wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget. But, say, today's Thanksgiving, and I've ate and ate and ate, and when I'd stuffed just all I could I jumped and gave a scream, because all at once, when it was too late, I remembered about that dream. And now, it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers and tell the folks good night and go a poke it off upstairs. But, oh, my sakes, I tassent, because I know them things'll be there all hidein' somewhere's round my bed and layin' there for me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Thanksgiving Dream by Joseph Crosby Lincoln. Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Schimpf. I'm pretty nearly certain that it was about two weeks ago. It might be more or perhaps it was less, but anyhow I know it was on the night I ate the four big saucers of ice cream that I dreamed just the horriblest, most awful, worstest dream. I dreamed that it was Thanksgiving and I saw our table laid with every kind of goodie that I guess was ever made, with turkey and with pudding and with everything, but gee, it was dreadful, because they was alive and said and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there, he stood up on his broomsticks and he says, you boy, take care, for if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night, I'll throw off all the blankets and I'll pull away the sheet, I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly tickly feet, I'll kick ya and I'll pick ya and I'll scream, remember me, but where, my boy, take care, my boy, that gobbler says, says he. And then a fat plum pudding kinder grunted like and said, I'm round and hot and steaming and I'm heavier than lead, and if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way. I'll thump ya and I'll bump ya and I'll jump up high and fall down on your little stomach like a sizzlin' cannonball. I'll hound ya and I'll pound ya and I'll screech, remember me, but where, my boy, take care, my boy, that puddin' says, says he. And then, soon as the puddin' stopped across the old minth pie, jumped from its plate and glared at me and winked its little eye. You boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice. Of me or if you do, I'll come and cramp ya like a vice. I'll root ya and I'll boot ya and I'll twist ya till ya wheel. I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel. I'll hunt ya and I'll punch ya and I'll screech, remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, ya see. You wouldn't believe that talk like that one ever could forget. But, see, today's Thanksgiving and at, at, at, and at. And when I'd stopped just all I could, I jumped and gave a scream, because all at once, when twas too late, I membered about that dream. And now it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers and tell the folks good night, and go a-poken off upstairs. But, oh, my sakes, I dasn't, because I know them things'll be all hidin' somewheres round my bed and layin' there for me. In the poem, this recording is in the public domain. Dream by Joseph Crosby Lincoln. I'm pretty nearly certain that was about two weeks ago. It might be more, or perhaps it was less, but anyhow I know it was on the night I ate the four big saucers of ice cream, that I dream just the horriblest, most awful, worstest dream. I dream that twas Thanksgiving, and I saw our table laid every kind of goodie that, I guess, was ever made. With turkey, and with puddin', and with everything. But, gee, it was dreadful, because they were alive, and set and looked at me. And then a great big gobbler that was on a platter there, he stood up on his drumsticks, and he says you boy, take care, for if Thanksgiving day you taste my dark meat or my white, I'll creep up to your bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll throw off all the blankets, and I'll pull away the sheet. I'll prance and dance upon you with my prickly, tickly feet. I'll tick you, and I'll pick you, and I'll screech. Remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy. That gobbler says, says he. And then if that plum puddin' kind of grunted like and said, I'm round and hard and steaming, and I'm heavier than lead. And if you dare to eat me, boy, upon Thanksgiving day, I'll come at night and tease you in a frightful sort of way. I'll thump you, and I'll bump you, and I'll jump up high, and fall down on your little stomach, like a sizzlin' cannonball. I'll hound you, and I'll pound you, and I'll screech. Remember me, beware my boy, take care my boy. That puddin' says, says he. And then soon as the puddin' stopped, the crusty old mince spy jumped from its plate, and glared at me and winked its little eye. You boy, it says, Thanksgiving day, don't dare to touch a slice of me. For if you do, I'll come and cramp you like a vise. I'll root you, and I'll boot you, and I'll twist you till you squeal. I'll stand on edge and roll around your stomach like a wheel. I'll hunt you, and I'll punch you, and I'll screech. Remember me. I don't know what came after that, because I woke up, you see. You wouldn't believe that talk like that, whenever could forget, but say today's Thanksgiving, and I've ate, and ate, and ate. And when I'd stuffed just all I could, I jumped, and gave a scream because all at once, when it was too late, I membered about that dream and now it's almost bedtime, and I ought to say my prayers until the folks connight, and go up poking off upstairs, but all my sakes, I dazed, because I know them things would be all hidein' somewheres round my bed, and layin' there for me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.