I was fortunate when I was young, having a father who loved to read aloud to his kids. And he didn't just read, he acted out whatever he was reading. This was one of his favorites; he'd gather us kids around after dinner, and read in a low, "spooky" voice; and at the end of every verse, he'd "git" us with tickles. Try reading this poem aloud and see how much better it is.
"Little Orphant Annie" is a morality poem. Read it closely, you'll get a real feel for what the midwest was like in the years following the Civil War, and how kids were raised in those days. When I was young this poem scared me a little; but it's all in good fun, as evidenced by the author's dedication:
INSCRIBED
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
With All Faith And Affection
To all the little children:--The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober an the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones--Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely
bad ones.
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him
bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at
all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I
guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an'
roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz
there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't
care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an'
hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her
side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed
what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes
woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an'
dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's
tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all
about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you