There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very very good,
But when she was bad she was horrid.
My mother used to recite as well as sing this little poem to my sister and me. She could have changed it to boy if she wasn't concerned about it rhyming, as both my brothers had curlier hair than Betty and I.
The amazing, to me, fact is that this wasn't just a little ditty made up in the 30's or 40's, it was a poem written by none other than Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And I didn't know that, would probably have never known that, had it not been for the book I am currently reading.
Being able to read, enjoying doing so, unimaginable what my life would have been without those.
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