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Category: Funny Narrative Poems
       Classic humorous and funny story poems. Narrative poems are written accounts of connected events in poetry format.


I don't go much on religion,
    I never ain't had no show;
But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,
    On a handful o' things I know.
I don't pan out on the prophets
    And free-will and that sort of thing--
But I be'lieve in God and the angels,
    Ever sence one night last spring.

I come into town with some turnips,
    And my little Gabe come along--
No four-year-old in the county
    Could beat him for pretty and strong--
Peart and chipper and sassy,
    Always ready to swear and fight--
And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker
    Jest to keep his milk-teeth white.

The snow come down like a blanket
    As I passed by Taggart's store;
I went in for a jug of molasses
    And left the team at the door.
They scared at something and started--
    I heard one little squall,
And hell-to-split over the prairie!
    Went team, Little Breeches, and all.

Hell-to-split over the prairie!
    I was almost froze with skeer;
But we rousted up some torches,
    And sarched for 'em far and near.
At last we struck hosses and wagon,
    Snowed under a soft white mound,
Upsot, dead beat, but of little Gabe
    No hide nor hair was found.

And hero all hope soured on me
    Of my fellow-critter's aid;
I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,
    Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.
             *             *             *             *             *
By this, the torches was played out,
    And me and Isrul Parr
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
    That he said was somewhar thar.

We found it at last, and a little shed
    Where they shut up the lambs at night;
We looked in and seen them huddled thar,
    So warm and sleepy and white;
And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped,
    As peart as ever you see,
"I want a chaw of terbacker,
    And that's what's the matter of me."

How did he git thar? Angels.
    He could never have walked in that storm:
They jest scooped down and toted him
    To whar it was safe and warm.
And I think that saving a little child,
    And fotching him to his own,
Is a derned sight better business
    Than loafing around the Throne.

                                            John Hay.

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