Skip to comments.Thanksgiving Street
Posted on 11/24/2010 4:49:46 AM PST by The Ignorant Fisherman
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. One day as I walked down the street, My old acquaintance I chanced to meet; Whose face was without the look of care And the ugly frown that had drifted there. "I may be mistaken" perhaps I said As after saluting I turned my head! "But it is, and it isn*t the Mr. Horner Who used to live on grumble corner." I met him next day and I met him again; In melting weather and in pelting rain.
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