Welcome to Forget-Me-Not Fairy Tales Bedtime Edition.
Classic stories for book lovers of all ages.
Don't worry about missing the action.
Just let your mind and body relax.
Each story is read slowly and soft.
Two times.
With soothing sounds.
To help you drift off to sleep.
Before we start our story,
Let's prepare both mind and body.
It's time to let your mind be calm and let your body relax.
Breathe in.
And exhale.
Relax your mind.
Relax your body.
Place your worries or busy thoughts in my box.
I'll hold them for you.
Let sleep wrap around you like a warm gentle hug.
It's your time to unwind,
To let go.
Or.
.
.
Enjoy the good stories.
Let's begin.
The Butterfly,
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for storytime by Miss Ray.
There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride,
And,
As may be supposed,
You want it to choose?
Very pretty one.
From among the flowers.
He glanced with a very critical eye.
And all the flower beds and fountains.
That the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks,
Just as maidens should sit before they are engaged.
There was a great number of them.
And it appeared as if.
His search would become very wearisome.
The butterfly did not like to take too much trouble.
So.
.
.
He flew off.
On a visit to the daisy.
French call this flower marguerite.
And they say.
Ain't that the little daisy?
Prophecy.
Lovers pluck off the leaves.
And as they pluck each leaf.
They ask a question about their lovers.
Earth.
Does he or she love me?
Ardently,
Distractedly.
Very much.
A little Not at all.
And so on.
Everyone speaks these words in his own language.
The butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire.
But he did not pluck off her leaves.
He pressed a kiss on each of them.
For he thought there was always more to be done by kindness.
Darlene Marguerite AZ be said to her.
You are the wisest woman of all the flowers.
Pray,
Tell me,
Which of the flowers shall I choose for my wife?
Which will be my bride.
When I know.
Directly to her.
And propose.
And Marguerite.
I did not answer him.
She was offended.
That he should call her a woman.
When she was only a girl.
And there was a great difference.
He asked her a second time.
And then,
A third.
That she remained dumb.
And answer not a word.
He would wait no longer.
But flew away.
To commence is willing at once.
It was in the early spring when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom.
They are very pretty.
Thought the butterfly.
Charming little glasses,
But they are rather formal.
I'm home As the young lads often do,
He looked out for the elder girls.
He next blew to the anemone.
These were rather sour to his taste.
The violet a little too sentimental.
The lime blossom's too small.
Emphasize.
We were such a large family.
The apple blossoms.
Though they looked like roses.
Ballooned today but might fall off tomorrow.
With the first wind that blew.
And he thought that a marriage was one of them.
Might look too short a time.
The pea blossom pleased him most of all.
She was white and red,
Graceful and slender,
And belonged to those domestic maidens to have a pretty appearance and can yet be useful in the kitchen.
He was just about to make her an offer when close by,
The maiden,
He saw a pod with a flower.
Hanging at the edge.
Who is there?
That is my sister.
Applied the pea blossom.
O-n-t You will be like her someday.
Said he.
And he flew away.
Directly.
For he felt quite shocked.
A honeysuckle.
On board.
From the hedge in full bloom.
But there were so many girls like her.
With long faces and sallow complexions.
No,
He did not like her.
But which one did you like?
Spring went by and summer drew towards its close.
Autumn came,
But he had not decided.
The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous rose.
It all in vain.
They had not the fresh,
Fragrant air of youth.
Or the heart asks for fragrance even when it is no longer young.
And there is very little of that.
To be found.
In the Delilah's.
Or the dry chrysanthemums.
Air Force The butterfly turned into the mint on the ground.
This plant has no blossoms.
It is sweet as all over.
Full of fragrance from head to foot.
With the scent of a flower.
Every week.
I will take her,
Said the butterfly.
And he made her an offer.
The mint stood silent and stiff as she listened to him.
At last,
She said.
Friendship if you please.
Nothing more.
I am old and you are old,
But we may live for each other just the same.
As to marry.
No.
Don't let this appear ridiculous at our age.
And so it happens.
That the butterfly got no life at all.
It had been too long choosing,
Which is always a bad plan,
And the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.
The end.
I hope you like this story,
An adaptation of The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
.
.
I hope you like this story.
Adaptation of.
The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
.
.
We spend all of our time.
Judging others.
On how they look.
Whether or not.
They will be worth our knowing.
We may find ourselves without.
The friendship and love we originally thought.
The daisy Originally by.
.
.
Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for storytime by Miss Ray.
Now listen in the country.
Close by the high road stood a farmhouse.
Perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself.
There was a little flower garden.
With painted wooden palings in front of it.
Close by.
Was a ditch.
On its fresh green paint.
Grew a little daisy.
The sun shone.
As warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent guarded flowers.
And therefore it thrived well.
One morning.
It had quite opened.
And its little snow white petals.
Stood round the yellow center.
Like the rays of the sun.
It did not mine.
And nobody saw it in the grass.
And that it was a poor,
Despised flower.
On the contrary,
It was quite happy and turned towards the sun.
Looking upward and listening to the song of the lark.
High up in the air.
The little daisy.
Was as happy.
As if the day had been.
A great holiday.
Was only Monday.
All the children were at school.
And while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons,
It sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun.
And from its surroundings.
And it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings.
With this sort of reverence,
The daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing.
But it did not feel envious.
I can see and hear it thoughts.
The sun shines upon me and the forest kisses me.
How rich I am.
In the garden.
Close by.
Grew many large and magnificent flowers.
It's strange to say.
The less fragrance they had.
A heart here.
Prouder they were.
The peonies puff themselves up.
In order to be larger.
In the roses.
Size is not everything.
The tulips had the finest colors,
And they knew it well too,
For they were standing bolt upright like candles.
That one might see them the better.
And their pride.
They did not see the little daisy.
Which looked over to them and thought.
How rich and beautiful they are.
I am sure.
The pretty bird will fly down and call upon them.
Thankfully,
I stand so near and can at least see all the splendor.
And while the daisy was still thinking,
The lark came flying down,
Crying.
But not to the peonies and tulips.
No,
Into the grass,
To the poor Daisy.
Its joy was so great.
That it did not know what to think.
The little bird hopped around it and sang.
Tweet tweet,
How beautifully soft the grass is.
And what a lovely little flower.
With its golden heart.
And silver dress is growing here.
The yellow center in the daisy.
Did indeed look like gold.
While the little petals shone as brightly as silver.
How happy the daisy was.
No one has the least idea.
The bird kissed it with its beak.
Saying to it.
And then rose again up to the sky.
It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the daisy recovered its senses,
Half ashamed yet glad at heart.
It looked over to the other flowers in the garden.
Surely they had witnessed it.
Its pleasure.
The honor.
That had been done to it.
They understood its joy.
The tulip stood more stiffly than ever.
Faces were pointed in red.
Has.
They were facts.
The peonies.
Or sulky.
It was well that they could not speak.
Otherwise.
They would have given the daisy.
Good lecture.
The little flower could very well see that they were ill at ease.
And pitied them sincerely.
Shortly after this.
A girl came into the garden.
With a large,
Sharp knife.
She went to the tulips and began cutting them off.
One after another.
It's like a daisy.
That is terrible.
Now they are done for.
The girl carried the tulips away.
The daisy was glad that it was outside and only a small flower.
It felt very grateful.
At sunset,
It folded its petals and fell asleep and dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.
The end.
I hope you like this story.
The Daisy,
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
And adapt it.
For sleep time.
Bye,
Ms.
Ray.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
.
.
You do not have to be beautiful.
Or talented or have something that makes others see you.
Because someone will love you and appreciate you just the way you are.
Even.
If you haven't met them yet.
The Butterfly.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for storytime by Miss Ray.
There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride,
And,
As may be supposed,
You want it to choose?
Very pretty one.
From among the flowers.
He glanced with a very critical eye.
And all the flower beds and fountains.
That the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks,
Just as maidens should sit before they are engaged.
There was a great number of them.
And it appeared as if.
His search would become very wearisome.
The butterfly did not like to take too much trouble.
Soap.
He flew off.
On a visit to the daisy.
French call this flower marguerite.
And they say.
Isn't that the little daisy?
Prophecy lovers pluck off the leaves.
And as they pluck each leaf.
They ask a question about their lovers.
Earth.
Does he or she love me?
Ardently,
Distractedly.
Very much.
A little Not at all.
And so on.
Everyone speaks these words in his own language.
Butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire.
But he did not pluck off her leaves.
He pressed a kiss on each of them.
For he thought there was always more to be done by kindness.
Darlene Marguerite,
AZ.
Be said to her.
You are the wisest woman of all the flowers.
Pray,
Tell me which of the flowers shall I choose for my wife?
Which will be my bride.
When I know.
Directly to her and propose.
And Marguerite.
Did not answer him.
She was offended.
That he should call her a woman when she was only a girl.
And there was a great difference.
He asked her a second time.
And then,
A third.
That she remained dumb.
And answer not a word.
He would wait no longer.
But flew away.
To commence is willing at once.
It was in the early spring when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom.
You're very pretty.
Thought the butterfly.
Charming little glasses,
But they are rather formal.
Then,
As the young lads often do,
He looked out for the elder girls.
He next blew to the anemone.
These were rather sour to his taste.
The violet a little too sentimental.
The lime blossom's too small.
And besides.
We were such a large family.
The apple blossoms.
Though they looked like roses.
Ballooned today but might fall off tomorrow.
With the first wind that blew.
And he thought that marriage was one of them.
Might look too short a time.
The pea blossom pleased him most of all.
She was white and red,
Graceful and slender,
And belonged to those domestic maidens.
To have a pretty appearance and can yet be useful in the kitchen.
He was just about to make her an offer when close by the maiden he saw a pod.
With the withered flower.
Hanging at the edge.
Who is that?
That is my sister.
Apply the pea blossom.
Oh,
Indeed.
You will be like her someday.
Said he.
And he flew away.
Directly.
For he felt quite shocked.
A honeysuckle.
On board.
From the hedge and full bloom.
But there were so many girls like her.
With long faces and sallow complexions.
No,
He did not like her.
But which one did you like?
Spring went by and summer drew towards its close.
Autumn came,
But he had not decided.
The flowers now appeared in their most gorgeous rose.
It all in vain.
They are not the fresh.
Fragrant air of youth.
For the heart asks for fragrance even when it is no longer young.
And there is very little of that.
To be found.
And then Delilah's.
Or the dry chrysanthemums.
Air Force The butterfly turned and chewed the mint on the ground.
This plant has no blossoms.
It is sweet as all over.
Full of fragrance from head to foot.
With the scent of a flower.
Every week.
I will take her,
Said the butterfly.
And he made her an offer.
The mint stood silent and stiff as she listened to him.
At last,
She said.
Friendship if you please.
Nothing more.
I am old,
And you are old,
But we may live for each other just the same.
As to marry.
No.
Don't let us appear ridiculous at our age.
And so it happened that the butterfly got no life at all.
It had been too long choosing,
Which is always a bad plan,
And the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.
The End.
I hope you like this story,
An adaptation of The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
.
.
I hope you like this story.
Adaptation of.
The Butterfly by Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales contain many more.
One lesson from this story is.
.
.
We spend all of our time.
Judging others.
On how they look.
Whether or not they will be worth our knowing.
We may find ourselves without.
The friendship and love we originally thought.
The Daisy.
Originally by.
.
.
Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for storytime by Miss Ray.
Now listen.
In the country,
Close by the high road stood a farmhouse.
Perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself.
There was a little flower garden.
Wooded pailings in front of it.
Close by.
Was a ditch.
On its fresh green paint.
Grew a little daisy.
The sun shone.
As warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent guarded flowers.
And therefore it thrived well.
One morning.
It had quite opened.
And its little snow white petals.
Stood round the yellow center.
Like the rays of the sun.
It did not mine.
And nobody saw it in the grass.
And that it was a poor,
Despised flower.
On the contrary,
It was quite happy.
And turn towards the sun.
Looking upward and listening to the song of the lark.
High up in the air.
The little daisy.
Was as happy.
As if the day had been.
A great holiday.
Was only Monday.
All the children were at school.
And while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons,
It sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun.
And from its surroundings.
And it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings.
With this sort of reverence,
The daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing.
But it did not feel envious.
I can see and hear it thoughts.
The sun shines upon me and the forest kisses me.
How rich I am.
In the garden.
Close by.
Grew many large and magnificent flowers.
It's strange to say.
The less fragrance they had.
A heart here.
Prouder they were.
The peonies puff themselves up.
In order to be larger than the roses.
Size is not everything.
The tulips had the finest colors,
And they knew it well too,
For they were standing bolt upright like candles.
That one might see them the better.
In their pride.
They did not see the little daisy.
Which looked over to them and thought.
How rich and beautiful they are.
I am sure.
The pretty bird will fly down and call upon them.
Thankfully,
I stand so near and can at least see all the splendor.
And while the daisy was still thinking,
The lark came flying down,
Crying.
But not to the peonies and tulips.
No,
Into the grass,
To the poor Daisy.
Its joy was so great.
That it did not know what to think.
The little bird hopped around it and sang.
Tweet tweet,
How beautifully soft the grass is.
And what a lovely little flower.
With its golden heart.
And silver dress is growing here.
The yellow center in the daisy.
Did indeed look like gold.
While the little petals shone as brightly as silver.
How happy the daisy was.
No one has the least idea.
The bird kissed it with its beak.
Saying to it.
And then rose again up to the sky.
It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the daisy recovered its senses,
Half ashamed yet glad at heart.
It looked over to the other flowers in the garden.
Surely they had a witness.
Its pleasure.
The honor.
That had been done to it.
They understood its joy.
The tulip stood more stiffly than ever.
Faces were pointed in red.
Because they were facts.
The peonies were silky.
It was wow.
That they could not speak.
Otherwise.
They would have given the daisy.
Good lecture.
Little flower could very well see that they were ill at ease.
And pitied them sincerely.
Shortly after this.
A girl came into the garden.
With a large,
Sharp knife.
She went to the tulips and began cutting them off.
One after another.
It's like a daisy.
That is terrible.
Now they are done for.
The girl carried the tulips away.
The daisy was glad that it was outside and only a small flower.
It felt very grateful.
At sunset,
It folded its petals and fell asleep,
And dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.
The end.
I hope you like this story.
The Daisy,
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
And adapt it.
For sleep time.
Bye,
Ms.
Ray.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
.
.
You do not have to be beautiful.
Or have something that makes others see you.
Someone will love you and appreciate you just the way you are.
Even.
If you haven't met them yet.
Thanks for listening my friend.
Sleep tight.
