Did you ever hear a poem that has stuck in your head for years and years?

[gregokdisney]

I can't remember the whole poem, but I can always remember this section of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe:

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars
never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride.

 

[Teresa Pitman]

My sister used to recite this all the time. I have no idea why.

Squirrels
Squirrels don't have pockets where pockets should go
You can't sew pockets on squirrels you know,
But they HAVE to have pockets and so they are freaks
And grow their pockets inside of their cheeks.


Teresa

 

[LuvOrlando]

I like this thread, so many poems are fun. I wonder why the ones that stick in my head are so serious?

I don't remember entire poems but a few lines tend to roll around in my head over and over again.

Robert Frost:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Aerosmith:
Half my life is books, written pages
live and learn from fools and from sages

 

[Pomlover2586]

By: Shel Silverstein

I cannot go to school today, said little Peggy Ann McKay
I have the measles and the mumps
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps!

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry
I'm going blind in my right eye!

My tonsils are as big as rocks
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
Oh wait! One more that's seventeen!!
And don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.

My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

I learned this poem when I was about 9 and it's stuck with me ever since.....