THE FARMER AND THE QUEEN
by Shel Silverstein
"She's coming," the farmer said to the owl.
"Oh, what shall I, what shall I do?
Shall I bow when she comes?
Shall I twiddle my thumbs?"
The owl asked, "Who?"
"The Queen, the Queen, the royal Queen--
She'll pass the farm today.
Shall I salute?" he asked the horse.
The horse said, "Nay."
"Shall I give her a gift?" he asked the wren.
"A lovely memento for her to keep?
An egg or a peach or an ear of corn?"
The wren said, "Cheap."
"But should I curtsy or should I cheer?
Oh, here's her carriage now.
What should I do?" he asked the dog.
The dog said, "Bow."
And so he did, and so she passed,
Oh, tra lala lala,
"She smiled, she did!" he told the sheep.
The sheep said, "Bah."

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout 
Would 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 door 
With 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 high 
That 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 relate 
Because the hour is much too late. 
But children, remember Sarah Stout 
And always take the garbage out!

Shel Silverstein, 1974 

Milford Dupree, though he knew it was rude,
Talked with his mouth full of food.
He never would burp or walk out of in the nude,
But he talked with his mouth full of food.
His mother said, “Milford, it’s crude and it’s lewd
To talk with your mouth full of food.
Why, even the milk cow who moo’d as she chewed
Never talked with her mouth full of food
And the cuckoo would never have ever cuckoo’d
If he coo’d with his mouth full of food.”
His dad said, “Get married or go get tattooed,
But don’t talk with your mouth full of food.
And if it was a crime, you would surely get sued.
If you talked with your mouth full of food.
Why just like an animal you should be zoo’d
As you talk with your mouth full of food.
Cause you know we’re all put in a terrible mood
When you talk with your mouth full of food.”
They pleaded and begged. He just giggled and chewed.
He laughed with his mouth full of food.
And all they advised him he simply poo-poo’d
He poo-poo’d with his mouth full of food.
So they sent for the gluer to have his mouth glued
Cause he talked with his mouth full of food.
And now instead of “Good morning”, he says,
"Gnu Murnood. I wun tuk win mny marf furu foog."

HECTOR THE COLLECTOR

by Shel Silverstein

Hector the Collector 
Collected bits of string, 
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring. 
Pieces out of picture puzzles,
Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires, 
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,
Leaky boats that wouldn't float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot.
Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks,
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
'Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles, 
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul‹
Loved them more than shining diamonds,
Loved them more than glistenin' gold.
Hector called to all the people,
"Come and share my treasure trunk!"
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked...and called it junk.