Classic Poem

Just beyond the rainbow's rim a river ripples down
Beneath a bridge, around a bend, and flows through Sleepy-town —
Through Sleepytown, where goblins toil to fashion wondrous toys
And make up fascinating games for little girls and boys.
And automobiles, just the size for little hands to drive,
Await to whirl you all about as soon as you arrive.
But no one ever is allowed in Sleepytown, unless
He goes to bed in time to take the Sleepytown Express!

I know a foolish little boy who always starts to whine
When he is asked to trot upstairs before it's half-past nine.
And often he will stamp his feet and shake his tousled head,
And make a racket, even then, when he is sent to bed.
Of course, when he has said his prayers it always is too late
To catch the Sleepytown Express — it starts at half-past eight.
And so, in all his long, long life — he's five years old this fall —
That little boy has never been to Sleepytown at all.

But other wiser little boys, and little girls as well,
As soon as eight o'clock has struck rush right upstairs, pell-mell,
Get off their clothes and say their prayers, just of their own accord,
And, when the train comes rolling in, they're there to climb aboard.
Then through a long, delightful night they wander up and down
And have a most exciting time in queer old Sleepytown;
And not for cake or anything that children could possess
Would any of them ever miss the Sleepytown Express!