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 Darny Needle.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy story time by Miss Rae.
There once was a darning needle who thought herself so fine that she fancied she must be fit.
For embroidery.
Hold me tight.
She would say to the fingers when they took her up.
Don't let me fall.
If you do,
I shall never be found again.
I am so very fine.
That is your opinion,
Is it?
Set the fingers.
As they seized her round the body.
See,
I am coming with the train.
Said the Johnny Nero.
Drawing a long thread after her.
There was no not.
In the thread.
The fingers then placed the point of the needle against the cook's slipper.
There was a crack in the upper leather,
Which had to be sewn together.
What course works?
Said the darning needle.
I shall never get through.
I am breaking.
Sure enough,
She broke.
Did I not say so?
Fat but darning me.
I know,
I am too fine for such work as that.
This needle is quite useless for sewing now,
" said the fingers.
But they still held it fast.
The cook dropped some sealing wax on the needle.
And fastened her handkerchief with it in front.
So now I am a breast pen,
" said the Darny Needle.
I knew very well I should come to honor someday.
Merit is sure to rise.
And she laughed quietly to herself.
For of course,
No one ever saw a darning needle laugh.
And there she sat,
As proudly as ever.
She were an estate coach.
And looked all around her.
May I be allowed to ask?
If you were made of gold?
She inquired of her neighbor,
A pin.
You have a very pretty appearance.
And a curious head.
Although you are rather small.
You must take pains to grow,
For it is not everyone who has sealing wax dropped upon him.
And as she spoke.
The darning needle drew herself up so proudly.
That she fell.
Out of the handkerchief right into the sink,
Which It's cleaning.
Now I'm going on a journey,
" said the needle.
As she floated away with the dirty water.
I do hope I shall not be lost.
She really was lost in a gutter.
I am too fine for this world.
Set the darning needle as she lay in the gutter.
I know who I am.
And that is always some comfort.
So,
The darning needle.
Kept up her proud behavior.
Anne did not lose her good humor.
Then.
.
.
Air floated over her.
All sorts of things.
Chips and straws and pieces of old newspapers.
Oh,
See how they sail,
Said the Dorney Needle.
They do not know what is under them.
I am here,
And here I shall stick.
There goes a chip,
Thinking of nothing in the world but himself.
Only a chip.
There's a straw going by now.
How he turns and twists apart.
Don't be thinking too much of yourself,
Or you may chance to run against a stone.
Their swim.
A piece of newspaper.
What is written upon it has been forgotten long ago.
It gives self airs.
I sit here patiently.
And quietly.
I know who I am,
So.
.
.
I shall not move.
One day,
Something lying close to the darning needle glittered so splendidly.
That she thought it was a diamond.
It was only a piece of broken bottle.
The darning needle spoke to it because it sparkled and represented herself as a breast pin.
I suppose you were really a diamond?
" she said.
Why,
Yes,
Something of the kind,
" he replied,
And so each believed the other to be very valuable And then they began to talk about the world.
And the conceited people in it.
I have been at a lady's workbook.
Set the darning needle.
And this lei was the cook's.
She had on each hand,
Five fingers.
And anything so conceited as these five fingers,
I have never seen.
And yet,
They were only employed to take me out of the box and to put me back in again.
Were they not I born?
High four.
Except the darn needle.
No,
Indeed.
But so haughty.
They were five brothers,
All born fingers.
They kept very proudly together.
Though,
They were of different lengths.
The one who stood first in the rank was named the Thumb.
He was short and thick and had only one joint in his back.
And could therefore make but one bow.
He said that if he were not on a man's hand.
That man would be unfit for a soldier.
Sweet Tooth,
His neighbor,
Dipped himself into sweet or sour.
Point it to the sun and moon and form the letters when the fingers rotate.
Longman.
The middle finger.
Looked over the heads of all the others.
Gold band.
The next finger.
Or a golden circle around his waist.
And little playman,
Did nothing at all,
And seemed proud of it.
They were boasters,
And boasters they will remain,
And therefore,
I left them.
And now we sit here and glitter,
" said the piece of broken bottle.
At the same moment.
More water streamed into the gutter so that it overflowed and the piece of bottle carried away.
So he is promoted.
Except the darning needle.
While I remain here.
I am too fine,
But.
.
.
That is my pride,
And what do I care?
And so,
She sat there in her pride and had many such thoughts as these.
I could almost fancy that I came from a sunbeam.
I am so fine.
It seems as if.
.
.
The sunbeams were always looking for me under the water.
I am so fine that even my mother cannot find me.
Had I still my old eye,
Which was broken off.
I believe I should wait.
But no.
I would not do that.
It is not gentile to cry.
One day,
A couple of street boys were paddling in the gutter where they sometimes found old nails,
Farthings,
And other treasures.
It was dirty work.
That they took great pleasure in it.
Hello,
Cried one.
As he pricked himself with a darning needle.
Here's a fellow for you.
I am not a fellow.
I am a young lady.
Set the darning needle.
But no one heard her.
The sealing wax had come off,
And she was quite black.
But.
.
.
Being dressed in black makes a person look slender,
So she thought herself even finer than before.
I.
Put it in the envelope with the farthings and let's be all.
And so,
The darninita was placed in a white envelope,
Along with some coins,
White walls,
And I am all dressed in black myself.
Ooh.
This does look good.
And I'm lucky.
I believe that's something shiny next to me.
Hello.
You do not seem very talkative.
You must be what they call a Farthing.
I will just sit next to you silently.
And let us sit together.
And self.
The darning needle laying the envelope next to the farthing.
In the boy's pocket.
And she was carried away for a new adventure.
The End.
I hope you like this story,
The Darning Needle.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy story time by Ms.
Rae.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is,
Though,
It's important to know yourself.
Do not.
Where you are from.
Or how you look.
Makes you.
Smarter.
Better.
Than others.
The Pen and the Inkstand.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy story time by Miss Rae.
And a poet's room where his inkstand stood on the table.
The remark was once made.
It is wonderful what can be brought out of an ink stain.
What will come next?
It is indeed wonderful.
Yes,
Certainly.
Set the ink stand to the pen.
And to the other articles that stood on the table.
That is why I always say it is wonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me.
It's quite incredible.
And I really don't know what is coming next when that man dips his pen into me.
One drop out of me is enough for half a page of paper.
And what cannot half a page contain?
From me,
All the works of a poet are produced.
All those imaginary characters whom people fancy.
They have known or met.
All the deep feeling,
The humor,
And the vivid pictures of nature.
I myself don't understand how it is,
For I am not acquainted with nature.
But it is certainly in me.
From me have gone forth to the world those wonderful descriptions of troops,
Of charming maidens,
And of brave knights on prancing steeds.
Of the halts and the blind,
And I know not what more.
For I assure you.
I never think that.
Of this game.
I bet you are right.
Said the pin.
You don't think at all.
If you did,
You would see that you can only provide the means.
You give the fluid that I may place upon the paper what dwells in me and what I wish to bring to light.
It is the pen that writes.
No man doubts that.
And indeed.
Most people understand as much about poetry.
As an old inkstand.
You have had very little experience,
" replied the inkstand.
You have hardly been in service a week,
And are already half worn out.
Do you imagine?
You are a poet.
You are only a servant.
And before you came,
I had many like you.
Some of the Goose family,
And others of English manufacturers.
I know a quill pen as well as I know a steel one.
I have had both sorts in my service,
And I shall have many more when he comes.
A man who performs the mechanical part.
And writes down what he obtains from me.
I should like to know what will be the next thing he gets out of me.
Ink pot.
Exclaim the pen contemptuously.
Late in the evening,
The poet came home.
He had been to a concert and had been quite enchanted with the admirable performance of a famous violin player whom he had heard there.
Performer had produced from his instrument a richness of tone that sometimes sounded like twinkling water drops or rolling pearls,
Sometimes like the birds twittering in chorus,
And then rising and swelling in sound like the wind through the fir trees.
Poet felt as if his own heart were weeping,
But in tones of melody,
Like the sound of a woman's voice.
It seemed not.
Only the strings,
But every part of the instrument.
From which these sounds were produced.
It was a wonderful performance,
And a difficult piece,
And yet,
The bow seemed to glide across the strings so easily.
That it was a set.
Anyone could do it who tried.
Even the violin and the bow appeared to perform independently of their master who guided them.
It was as if soul and spirit had been breathed into the instrument.
So the audience forgot.
The performer and the beautiful sounds he produced.
Not so the poet.
He remembered him.
Named him and wrote down his thoughts on the subject.
How foolish it would be for the violin and the bow.
To boast of their performance.
And yet,
We men often commit that folly.
The poet,
The artist,
The man of science in his laboratory,
The general,
We all do it.
And yet,
We are all merely instruments.
We have nothing of ourselves which we should be proud of.
This is what the poet wrote down.
He wrote it in the form of a parable.
And called it.
The Master.
And the instruments.
That is what you have got,
Madam.
Set the pen to the ink stand.
When the two were alone again.
Did you hear him read aloud what I had him written down?
Is what I gave you to write,
" retorted the inkstand.
That was a cut at you because of your conceit.
To think that you could not understand that you were being quizzed.
I gave you a cut from within me.
Surely I must know my own satire.
Picture,
Cried the pen.
Writing stick retorted the ink sand.
Each of them.
Felt satisfied.
That he had given a good answer.
It is pleasing to be convinced that you have settled a matter by your reply.
It is something to make you sleep well.
And they both slept well upon it.
Butt.
They're arguing.
I did not.
Disturb the poet.
Or change the poet's words.
The end.
I hope you like this story.
Pen and the ink stand.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy storytime by Miss Ray.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
Do not.
Be so proud.
Of your contribution.
That.
You fail.
To acknowledge.
The work.
Of others that has helped you shine bright.
It is only through working together.
That we can achieve true greatness.
The Darny Needle.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy story time by Miss Rae.
There once was a darning needle who thought herself so fine that she fancied.
She must be fit.
For embroidery.
Hold me tight.
She would say to the fingers when they took her up.
Don't let me fall.
If you do,
I shall never be found again.
I am so very fine.
That is your opinion,
Is it?
Set the fingers.
As they seized her round the body.
See?
I am coming with the train.
Set the darning needle.
Drawing a long thread after her.
There was no not.
In the thread.
The fingers then placed the point of the needle against the cook's slipper.
There was a crack in the upper leather,
Which had to be sewn together.
What course works?
Said the darning needle.
I shall never get through.
I am breathing.
Sure enough,
She broke.
Did I not say so?
Fat the darn he needs.
I know,
I am too fine for such work as that.
This needle is quite useless for sewing now,
" said the fingers.
But they still held it fast.
The cook dropped some sealing wax on the needle.
And fastened.
Her handkerchief with it in front.
So now I am a breast pen,
" said the Darny Needle.
I knew very well I should come to honor someday.
Merit is sure to rise.
And she laughed quietly to herself.
For of course,
No one ever saw a darning needle laugh.
And there she sat,
As proudly as ever.
She were an estate coach.
And looked all around her.
May I be allowed to ask?
If you were made of gold?
She inquired of her neighbor,
A pin.
You have a very pretty appearance.
And the curious head.
Although you are rather small.
You must take pains to grow,
For it is not everyone who has sealing wax dropped upon him.
And as she spoke.
The darning needle drew herself up so proudly.
That she fell.
Out of the handkerchief right into the sink,
Which the Lahini Now I am going on a journey,
" said the needle.
As she floated away with the dirty water.
I do hope I shall not be lost.
She really was lost in a gutter.
I am too fine for this world.
Set the darning needle as she lay in the gutter.
I know who I am.
And that is always some comfort.
So,
The darning needle.
Kept up her proud behavior.
Anne did not lose her good humor.
Then.
.
.
There floated over her all sorts of things.
Chips and straws and pieces of old newspaper.
Oh,
See how they spell,
" said the Darny Needle.
They do not know what is under them.
I am here,
And here I shall stick.
See?
There goes a chip,
Thinking of nothing in the world but himself.
Only a chip.
There's a straw going by now.
How he turns and twists about.
Don't be thinking too much of yourself,
Or you may chance to run against a stone.
Bear Swim.
A piece of newspaper.
What is written upon it has been forgotten long ago.
It gives itself airs.
I sit here patiently.
And quietly.
I know who I am,
So.
.
.
I shall not move.
One day,
Something lying close to the darning needle glittered so splendidly.
That she thought it was a diamond.
It was only a piece of broken bottle.
The darning needle spoke to it.
As it sparkled and represented herself as a breast pin.
I suppose you were really a diamond?
" she said.
Why,
Yes,
Something of the kind,
" he replied,
And so each believed the other to be very valuable And then they began to talk.
About the world.
And the conceited people in it.
I have been at a lady's work box.
Set the darning needle.
And this lady was the cook.
She had on each hand five fingers.
Anything so conceited as these five fingers I have never seen.
And yet,
They were only employed to take me out of the box and to put me back in again.
Were they not I born?
Hi,
Boy.
Except the darning needle.
No,
Indeed.
But so haughty.
They were five brothers,
All born fingers.
They kept very proudly together.
Though,
They were of different lengths.
The one who stood first in the rank was named the Thumb.
He was short and thin.
And had only one joint in his back.
And could therefore make but one bow.
He said that if he were not on a man's hand.
That man would be unfit for a soldier.
Sweet Tooth,
His neighbor,
Dipped himself into sweet or sour.
Pointed to the sun and moon.
And form the letters when the fingers wrote.
Longman.
The middle finger.
Looked over the heads of all the others.
Gold bands.
The next finger.
Wore a golden circle around his waist.
And little playman,
Did nothing at all,
And seemed proud of it.
They were boasters,
And boasters they will remain,
And therefore,
I loved them.
And now we sit here and glitter.
Said the piece of broken bottle.
At the same moment.
More water streamed into the gutter so that it overflowed.
And the piece of bottle.
Carried away.
So he is promoted.
Set the darning needle.
While I remain here.
I am too fine.
But.
.
.
That is my pride,
And what do I care?
" And so,
She sat there in her pride,
And had many such thoughts as these.
I could almost fancy that I came from a sunbeam.
I am so fine.
It seems as if.
.
.
The sunbeams were always looking for me under the water.
I am so fine that even my mother cannot find me.
Had I still my old eye,
Which was broken off.
I believe I should weep.
Button now.
I would not do that.
It is not gentile to cry.
One day,
A couple of street boys were paddling in the gutter where they sometimes found old nails,
Farthings,
And other treasures.
It was dirty work.
That they took great pleasure in it.
Hello,
Cried one.
As he pricked himself with a darning needle.
Here's a fellow for you.
I am not a fellow.
I am a young lady.
Set the yarn needle.
But no one heard her.
The sealing wax had come off,
And she was quite black.
Being dressed in black makes a person look slender,
So she thought herself even finer than before.
I.
Put it in the envelope with the farthings and let's be all.
And so,
The darninita was placed in a white envelope,
Along with some coins,
White walls,
And I am all dressed in black myself.
Ooh.
This does look good.
And how lucky.
I believe that's something shiny next to me.
Hello.
You do not seem very talkative.
You must be what they call a Farthing.
I will just sit next to you silently.
And let us sit together.
And so.
.
.
The darning needle laying the envelope next to the farthing.
In the boy's pocket.
And she was carried away for a new adventure.
The End.
I hope you like this story,
The Darning Needle.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy story time by Ms.
Rae.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is though it's important to know yourself.
Do not.
Will be.
Where you are from.
Or how you look.
Makes you.
Smarter.
Batter.
Than others.
The Pen and the Inkstand.
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy storytime by Miss Rae.
And a poet's room where his inkstand stood on the table.
The remark was once made.
It is wonderful what can be brought out of an ink stain.
What will come next?
It is indeed wonderful.
Yes,
Certainly.
Set the inkstand to the pen and to the other articles that stood on the table.
That is why I always say it is wonderful and extraordinary what a number of things come out of me.
It's quite incredible.
And I really don't know what is coming next when that man dips his pen into me.
One drop out of me is enough for half a page of paper.
And what cannot half a page contain?
From me,
All the works of a poet are produced.
All those imaginary characters whom people fancy.
They have known or met.
All the deep feeling,
The humor,
And the vivid pictures of nature.
I myself don't understand how it is,
For I am not acquainted with nature.
But it is certainly in me.
From me have gone forth to the world those wonderful descriptions of troops,
Of charming maidens,
And of brave knights on prancing steeds.
Of the halts and the blind,
And I know not what more.
For I assure you.
I never think of these things.
I bet you are right.
Said the pin.
For you don't think at all.
If you did,
You would see that you can only provide the means.
You give the fluid that I may place upon the paper what dwells in me and what I wish to bring to light.
It is the pen that writes.
No man doubts that.
And indeed.
Most people understand as much about poetry.
As an old inkstand.
You have had very little experience,
Replied the inkstand.
You have hardly been in service a week,
And are already half worn out.
Do you imagine You are a poet.
You are only a servant.
And before you came,
I had many like you.
Some of the Goose family,
And others of English manufacturers.
I know a quill pen as well as I know a steel one.
I have had both sorts in my service,
And I shall have many more when he comes.
A man who performs the mechanical part.
And writes down what he obtains from me.
I should like to know what will be the next thing he gets out of me.
Ink pot.
Exclaim the pen contemptuously.
Late in the evening,
The poet came home.
He had been to a concert and had been quite enchanted with the admirable performance of a famous violin player whom he had heard there.
The performer had produced from his instrument a richness of tone that sometimes sounded like twinkling water drops or rolling pearls,
Sometimes like the birds twittering in chorus,
And then rising and swelling in sound like the wind through the fir trees.
The poet felt as if his own heart were weeping,
But in tones of melody,
Like the sound of a woman's voice.
It seemed not only the strings,
But every part of the instrument from which these sounds were produced.
It was a wonderful performance and a difficult piece.
And yet,
The bow seemed to glide across the strings so easily.
That it was a self.
Anyone could do it who tried.
Even the violin and the bow appeared to perform independently of their master who guided them.
It was as if soul and spirit were one.
Had been breathed into the instrument.
So the audience forgot.
The performer,
And the beautiful sounds he produced.
Not so the poet.
He remembered him.
And named him and wrote down his thoughts on the subject.
How foolish it would be for the violin and the bow.
To boast of their performance.
And yet,
We men often commit that folly.
The poet,
The artist,
The man of science in his laboratory,
The general,
We all do it.
And yet,
We are all merely instruments.
We have nothing of ourselves which we should be proud of.
Yes.
This is what the poet wrote down.
He wrote it in the form of a parable.
And called it home.
The Master.
And the instruments.
That is what you have got,
Madam.
Set the pen to the ink stand.
When the two were alone again.
Did you hear him read aloud what I had him written down?
Yes,
What I gave you to write,
" retorted the inkstand.
That was a cut at you because of your conceit.
To think that you could not understand that you were being quizzed.
I gave you a cut from within me.
Surely I must know my own satire.
Picture cried the pen writing stick retorted the ink sand each of them.
Felt satisfied.
That he had given a good answer.
It is pleasing to be convinced that you have settled a matter by your reply.
It is something to make you sleep well.
And they both slept well upon it.
Butt.
They're arguing.
I did not.
Disturb the poet.
Or change the poet's words.
The end.
I hope you like this story.
Hen and the Ink Stan,
Originally written by Hans Christian Andersen.
Adapted for cozy storytime by Miss Ray.
Fairy tales contain many morals.
One lesson from this story is.
Do not.
Be so proud.
Of your contribution.
You fail.
To acknowledge.
The work.
Of others that has helped you shine bright.
It is only through working together.
That we can achieve.
True greet Thanks for listening my friends.
Sleep tight.
