“Eighteen luscuios scrumpitous flavors,Chocolate,Lime and CherryCoffee,Pumpkin, Fudge-Banana,Caramel Cream and boysenberry.Rocky Road and Toasted Almond, Butterscotch,Vanilla Dip, Butter Brinkle,Apple Ripple,Coconut,and Mocha Chip, Brandy Peach and Lemon Custard.Each scoop lovely.smooth and round. Tallest cream cone in town lying there on the ground.”

“Sarah Cynthia Sylvia StoutWould 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 sour cottage cheese.It filled the can, it covered the floor,It cracked the window and blocked the doorWith bacon rinds and chicken bones,Drippy ends of ice cream cones,Prune pits, 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,Peanut butter, caked and dry,Curdled milk and crusts of pie,Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,Cold french fried and rancid meat,Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.At last the garbage reached so highThat it finally touched the sky.And all the neighbors moved away,And none of her friends would come to play.And finally Sarah Cynthia 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 relateBecause the hour is much too late.But children, remember Sarah StoutAnd always take the garbage out!”

“So what if nobody came? I’ll have all the ice cream and tea, And I’ll laugh with myself, And I’ll dance with myself, And I’ll sing, “Happy Birthday to me!”

“You don't have to shoot me," says the young lion. "I will be your rug and I will lie in front of your fireplace and I won't move a muscle and you can sit on me and toast all the marshmallows you want. I love marshmallows.”

“Ol' man Simon, planted a diamond. Grew hisself a garden the likes of none. Sprouts all growin' comin' up glowin' Fruit of jewels all shinin' in the sun. Colors of the rainbow. See the sun and the rain grow sapphires and rubies on ivory vines, Grapes of jade, just ripenin' in the shade, just ready for the squeezin' into green jade wine. Pure gold corn there, Blowin' in the warm air. Ol' crow nibblin' on the amnythyst seeds. In between the diamonds, Ol' man Simon crawls about pullin' out platinum weeds. Pink pearl berries, all you can carry, put 'em in a bushel and haul 'em into town. Up in the tree there's opal nuts and gold pears- Hurry quick, grab a stick and shake some down. Take a silver tater, emerald tomater, fresh plump coral melons. Hangin' in reach. Ol' man Simon, diggin' in his diamonds, stops and rests and dreams about one... real... peach.”

“FROZEN DREAMI'll take the dream I had last nightAnd put it in my freezer,So someday long and far awayWhen I'm an old grey geezer,I'll take it out and thaw it out,This lovely dream I've frozen,And boil it up and sit me downA dip my old cold toes in.”

“My beard grows down to my toes,I never wears no clothes,I wraps my hairAround my bare,And down the road I goes.”