"you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead"

First, a quick word of thanks to all of you who have been so supportive of The Magic Ring. Critics are paying attention, and reader reviews at Amazon.com are also appearing. I couldn't be happier! In other publishing news, The Trail of Tears and Indian Removal is due out next month.

And now, a recommendation: be sure to catch sithdragn's gorgeous pumpkin carving post here. See what an artist can do with jack-o'-lanterns!


Today's text is "The Nine Little Goblins" by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916):

"The Nine Little Goblins"

They all climbed up on a high board fence -
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes -
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat -
And I asked them what they were staring at.

And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red -
"This is what this little arm is fer!"
And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
"How on earth do you scratch your head?"

And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge -
Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
And when he choked, with a final twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.

( Read the rest of the poem. )