Close your eyes
And come with me
To a distant land
Filled with make-believe.
Soon we'll be in Dreamland,
The happiest place on earth.
Let's fly away to Dreamland,
And we will have ourselves
A very special time -
You have powers you've never dreamed of.
You can do things you never thought you could.
There are no limitations to what you can do,
Except the limitations in your own mind.
Don't think you cannot.
think you can.
Once upon a time, in Dreamland, there lived a family of sheep. They were all as white and fluffy as cotton balls, except, of course, for Baa Baa. Baa Baa sheep was as black as the night.
Now Dreamland was facing a very serious problem. Every year the sheep in Dreamland Meadow gave of their fleecy white coats to the people of Dreamland so they would have new clothes and coats to protect them against the coming winter. However, this year the sheep in the Dreamland Meadow had grown so white, and so fluffy, that none of them were willing to give up of their fleecy coats.
This was a real problem for the people of Dreamland. They were very dependent upon the sheep in the Dreamland Meadow and were very aware that without the wool from the sheep, the townspeople would have no coats for the winter, and could make no clothes. And the clothes they were now wearing were really becoming tattered and worn. So, the Master called a town meeting. He wore his best suit. But is was ragged and torn. “You all know why you’ve been called to our town meeting,” the Master bellowed. “The sheep are not willing to give of their wool. And our clothes are becoming so unsightly.”
“I have mended and patched my dress until I can patch it no more,” sniffled the Dame.
“I have so many holes in my clothes, and winter is coming,” said The Little Boy Down the Lane. “Without a new coat, surely I will freeze when the cold winds of winter begin to blow.”
There was much uneasiness among the people of Dreamland. So, the townspeople decided to talk to the sheep. Maybe they could be convinced to give up their wool – at least for coats for the coming winter.
At the appointed time, all the people gathered at the town square and together they all made their way to the Dreamland Meadow.
In the lush green meadow grass the sheep were all strutting about in a pompous way, bragging to each other about their fluffy white coats. “Surely I am the fluffiest sheep in the meadow,” bragged brother sheep.
“But, I have the fluffiest, whitest coat you have ever seen,” boasted father sheep.
Mother sheep was grooming herself, admiring her reflection in the meadow pond as father sheep paraded himself about the meadow, proudly showing off his thick coat of wool.
Baa Baa stayed his distance. He had just as much wool, and he had every right to parade himself about the meadow, but he was saddened by his family’s selfishness and pride. Baa Baa approached his father ‘sheepishly.’
“Why won’t we help the townspeople, father? They need new coats for the coming winter.”
“My, son,” father sheep spoke arrogantly. “It has taken me a long time to grow such a beautiful wool coat. Why should I part with it when it makes me look so splendid?”
“Have you ever seen a sheep who has been sheered of its wool?” mother sheep interrupted. “He is skinny and very unbecoming. Certainly any sheep like that would be an outcast from our family.”
Baa Baa was confused. “But don’t we grow our coats back?” he asked.
Brother sheep joined the conversation. “The problem is ‘in-the- mean-time.’ Who wants to look so scrawny and un-fed?” he chuckled.
The sheep family was set against giving up their wool. So, when the townspeople arrived at the meadow, all their minds were already made up.
“So, as you can see,” the Master said approaching the sheep. “Our clothes are very tattered and worn.”
“I can no longer mend my dress,” interrupted the Dame. “Cause there just isn’t any place left to mend.”
“And I need a new coat to warm me against the winds of winter,” pleaded The Boy Down the Lane. “Won’t you please help us?”
Father sheep turned his back on the townspeople and began to walk away. “I’m sorry but that is just not our concern. We look after ourselves the best we can – certainly you can do the same.”
“But we depend on each other,” the Master pleaded.
Father sheep turned and walked back toward the crowd. “We do not depend on you, so why should you be so dependent upon us?”
The Boy Down the Lane stepped timidly through the crowd toward the sheep. “If it were not for the Master, you would not have a beautiful meadow to graze in. And if it were not for the Dame, you would not have the cool, clear water to quench your thirst.”
The sheep were not impressed. “My dear, boy,” glared mother sheep. “I dare say that the meadow would still be here without the Master and so would the water without the Dame.”
The Dame could see that they were wasting their time. “It is of no use. The sheep are not going to help us.”
The townspeople turned sadly away. The sheep all laughed to think that the people would be so foolish as to believe that they depended on the townspeople for so much. But Baa Baa felt differently. However, he was afraid to express his feelings because he was always made fun of and ridiculed. You see, he was, how should I say, ‘the black sheep in the family.’
Baa Baa turned away from his family and walked sadly into the meadow. ‘What could he do?’ he thought, ‘to help the townspeople.’ Baa Baa sat sadly beneath a large shade tree in the soft meadow grass and began to talk to himself. “I’m just the black sheep in my family; I’m laughed at all the time. Everybody is always talking and saying things that are unfair and so unkind. What should I do? – I’d like to help. But my family will never understand. I’ve got to help the people if I can. But, if I give up my wool, all my family and friends will laugh at me and I will be an outcast.”
Meanwhile, the townspeople were trying to decide what to do. “Now, quiet down,” the Master yelled over the anxious complaining of the crowd. “Do any of you have any suggestions?”
“Move from Dreamland!” shouted the crowd.
“Move from Dreamland?” the Dame questioned. “Why, I would never give up my home and all of my good friends.”
“But soon winter will be here,” reminded The Boy Down the Lane. “Without any coats we will be forced to move or freeze.”
Suddenly the Master’s expression changed. “I have an idea . . . I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before.” A quiet hush fell over the townspeople. “The sheep are so very confident that they can get along without us – let us prove to them that they cannot. I will quit tending the meadow,” the Master said resolutely.
“And I will turn off the water,” said the Dame in agreement.
“As the grass is eaten and there is mo more water,” the Master said confidently, “surely they will give us of their wool.”
“Your idea is good,” shouted The Boy Down the Lane. “But I think we should tell the sheep and give them one more chance to give us of their wool before you quit tending the meadow and the Dame turns off the water.” Everyone agreed.
The next day, bright and early, the townspeople made their way back to Dreamland Meadow. The sheep were grazing quietly in the tall meadow grass and sipping from the cool, clear water. Father sheep was not happy to see the townspeople. “What is it this time? Why must you be such a bother?”
“Father sheep,” said the Master. “We have come to a conclusion. However, The Boy Down the Lane thought it would be in your best interest to discuss this decision with you before we carried it out.”
“What might that be?” questioned Father sheep, chewing lazily on the moist meadow grass.
“You seem to think that you do not depend on us for anything at all,” said the Master.
Father sheep rolled his eyes at his family. “That is correct.”
“I’m going to quit tending the meadow,” the Master said, his mind made up.
“And I’m going to turn off the water,” declared the Dame.
“But before they do that, we wanted to give you one more chance to give of your wool,” pleaded The Boy Down the Lane, in an effort to keep the peace.
“Well, I never,” huffed mother sheep. “What nonsense!”
“Do what you like,” father sheep argued, “but, we will never give of our fine wool.” Father sheep turned to leave and nodded to the rest of his family.
“But, father,” Baa Baa pleaded, trying to catch up.
“Quiet boy,” Father sheep whispered angrily.
The townspeople left the meadow and again all the sheep laughed as they romped and played in the tall meadow grass.
“Mother?” asked Baa Baa sadly.
“What is it dear?” mother sheep responded as she nibbled the tender grass.
“If the Master quits tending the meadow, and the Dame turns off the water, we will die. What good will our wool be then?”
“We will not surely die. The meadow will not go away. And, with the coming fall rain, we will have plenty of water.” Mother sheep nuzzled Baa Baa and scooted him away to play with the others.
Mother sheep was right. The fall rains came and the meadow continued to flourish. And the sheep increased in their pride knowing they did not have to depend upon the townspeople. They strutted even more proudly than before. So, once again the townspeople held another meeting.
“I have quit tending the meadow and the Dame has turned off the water, “explained the Master to the anxious townspeople. “But, still the sheep grow fatter, and more prideful because of their thick wooly coats.”
“Maybe we should ask them again,” The Boy Down the Lane suggested.
The Master was disheartened. “It would be no use he told the boy sadly.”
Meanwhile, back at Dreamland Meadow, all the sheep were playing in the lush meadow grass. All except Baa Baa. He was very worried about his family’s pride and boastfulness. He just couldn’t understand why it would be so much trouble to share their wool for a few coats for the townspeople. But the sheep were determined to keep their wool. And in their selfishness they did not notice a strange truck passing by the meadow on its way into town.
“Sir, I’m from Dingleville,” said the man to the Master, stepping from his old truck. “We’re in desperate need of meat. I just happened to be driving by and I noticed that in the meadow yonder, you have a number of fat, juicy sheep. Would you be willing to sell me your sheep that we might have meat in Dingleville?”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” answered the Master. “Those sheep have been in Dreamland for a number of years. I would really have to take the matter up with the town council.”
“I can see, sir,” said the stranger staring at the Master’s tattered clothes, “that by the looks of your apparel, you obviously don’t use the sheep for their wool. And, if you don’t use them for meat, then what good are they?”
The man was right, thought the Master. The sheep do not give us of their wool, and we do not use them for meat. It seemed the logical thing to do to sell the sheep to Dingleville. “Before I give you my decision,” the Master said uncomfortably, “I will have to talk to the townspeople. If you will come back tomorrow I will tell you then if we will sell them or not.”
The stranger stepped back into his nearly worn out old truck. He slammed the door and rolled down the window. “I’ll be back in the morning. I hope you will see that it would be the proper thing to do to sell those useless sheep to us.”
The man started up the noisy engine and drove away. And as he passed the unsuspecting sheep, they were so caught up in themselves that they paid no attention to the nearly broken down truck as it drove noisily passed the quiet meadow.
The Master called an emergency town meeting. Everyone gathered in anticipation of some kind of news regarding the sheep. “A man from Dingleville has asked to buy our sheep,” declared the Master.
“But if we sell our sheep then surely we will have no wool for our coats,” argued the Dame.
“If the sheep are not willing to give us of their wool and we do not use them for meat, then what good are they?” reasoned the Master.
“But, the sheep have been here in Dreamland for a long, long time. How could we ever give them up?” petitioned The Boy Down the Lane.
“The sheep are of no use to us,” the Master said resolutely. “We could take of the money we will make from selling them and buy our new coats.”
All the townspeople agreed to tell the man from Dingleville that they would sell the sheep. All except The Boy Down the Lane, who slipped away through the crowd and ran as fast as he could to the meadow where he found Baa Baa grazing off by himself. “Baa Baa,” The Boy Down the Lane whispered, trying to catch his breath. “I’ve got to talk to you. The townspeople have decided that since the sheep will not give of their wool that they are going to sell you to Dingleville – for meat.”
“Oh, no,” Baa Baa replied.
“Oh, yes,” said The Boy Down the Lane, still breathing hard.
“But, what can we do?” questioned Baa Baa frightfully.
“You’ve got to talk to your family,” The Boy Down the Lane pleaded. “They’ve just got to give some of their wool!”
“But they will never give of their wool,” responded Baa Baa.
“But they have too, or they’ll end up lamb chops on the plates of the people of Dingleville.”
“You run back to town and see how much wool would satisfy them,” insisted Baa Baa.
The Boy Down the Lane ran back to Dreamland as fast as he could. He ran so fast that when he finally found the Master, he could hardly speak. “Master, Master,” pleaded The Boy Down the Lane. “How many bags of wool would it take to spare the sheep?”
“Who is talking of sparing the sheep? We are selling them to Dingleville,” replied the Master.
“But, please, sir,” begged The Boy Down the Lane. “If I can get ten bags of wool would you spare the sheep?”
The Master thought. He rubbed his chin and looked down at the pleading boy. “Well, that would change things . . . yes, if you were to get ten bags of wool from them I would spare the sheep.”
Ten Bags Full.
New Coats For Everyone
For Ten Bags of Wool.
“Master,” again pleaded The Boy Down the Lane. “If I were to get five bags of wool, would you spare the sheep?”
“Five bags of wool. Hmmmm.” The Master wrinkled his forehead. “Yes, if you were to get five bags of wool I would spare the sheep.”
Five Bags Full
New Coats For Everyone
For Five Bags of Wool.
“And if I would only get three bags of wool, would you still spare the sheep?” The Boy Down the Lane said, still pleading for Baa Baa and his family.
“Well, I don’t know. Three bags of wool?” The Master squenched his mouth. “Yes, if you were to get three bags of wool I would spare the sheep.”
Three Bags Full
New Coats For Everyone
For Three Bags Of Wool.
The Boy Down the Lane ran as fast as he could to the meadow and again found Baa Baa. “Baa Baa,” The Boy Down the Lane whispered excitedly. “I have convinced the Master that if I get three bags of wool, he will spare the sheep. He will be here in the morning to collect.”
“I don’t know if I can convince them to give me three bags of wool,” replied Baa Baa nervously.
That night, as the sun was setting over the meadow, Baa Baa approached his family. “Father,” Baa Baa said timidly. “The townspeople are going to sell us for meat to the people of Dingleville if we do not give up our wool.”
“Whoever heard of such nonsense,” laughed his father. “We have been in Dreamland for such a long, long time . . . the people will never give us up.”
“Where did you hear such a thing?” bleated mother sheep.
“The Boy Down the Lane told me this afternoon that a man from Dingleville visited with the Master and offered to buy us.”
Mother sheep looked nervously at father sheep. “They wouldn’t sell us for meat . . . would they, father?”
“Of course they wouldn’t,” responded father sheep casually. “Not now, not ever.
“But if we will not give the people any wool and they do not use us for meat – what good are we?” Baa Baa asked boldly.
The sheep thought deeply about that. But still they were convinced that the people of Dreamland were only trying to pull the wool over their eyes.
“We are too beautiful,” brother sheep said arrogantly.
“We are such fine sheep. No one would be so silly as to ever sell us for meat,” father sheep quipped as he strutted about.
“But The Boy Down the Lane told me that the Master would spare us if we would give three bags of wool,” pleaded Baa Baa.
“So, who is it going to be? Who is going to give up three bags of wool?” questioned brother sheep.
“Certainly, I will not. It would leave me as scrawny as the snake that slithers through our meadow,” gloated father sheep. “I’m not going to give up my wool.”
“Nor I,” agreed mother sheep.
Baa Baa just couldn’t understand his family’s reasoning. “But, mother, father, three bags of wool is not too much to ask.”
“It’s too much,” father sheep said angrily. “And we will not give it up. They are just trying to scare us; like the night the Master said he would quit tending the meadow and the Dame said she would turn off the water.”
The sheep family again began to boast of their beauty, and was all very self-assured that the townspeople of Dreamland were only bluffing. Little did they know that the townspeople were not bluffing, and at sunrise would come to the meadow and either pick up three bags of wool or would sell the sheep to the people of Dingleville. All night Baa Baa paced the meadow. What could he do to convince his family that they should share and give up their wool to help the people of Dreamland? All night The Boy Down the Lane fretted. He did not want to sell the sheep – especially Baa Baa.
The next morning, bright and early, the townspeople made their way to the meadow. All of the sheep were up grazing in the dew covered meadow grass. The Master approached the sheep. “Good morning, father sheep. We have come for our bags of wool.”
“Oh, you have come for your bags of wool have you?” laughed father sheep sarcastically. “And you’ve also come to turn off the rain and pull up each blade of grass that we graze upon.”
“I told The Boy Down the Lane that if you would give up just three bags of wool I would spare you and not sell you to the people of Dingleville,” argued the Master.
Father sheep was not convinced. “Oh, you did, did you?”
“Yes, I did,” stated the Master firmly. “You will notice the truck coming into the meadow. In that truck, father sheep, is a man from Dingleville. He is to take you away if we don’t have the three bags of wool.”
Suddenly the sheep were very nervous as they could all see the rickety old truck getting closer to the meadow.
“Surely your kidding,” chuckled brother sheep nervously.
“Sure, he’s kidding,” laughed father sheep. “Aren’t you?”
“I wished I was,” responded the Master, shaking his head.
“But father, you told us that the people were just trying to scare us into giving up our wool,” cried mother sheep anxiously.
“How do we know that man – that truck is from Dingleville?” father sheep asked. “That could be any truck.”
The Master was losing his patients. “Do you have the three bags of wool or not?”
“No,” shrugged father sheep. “I do not.”
The noisy truck pulled to a stop near the townspeople. The stranger rolled down his window and pulled a toothpick from his mouth. “Have you decided to sell us the sheep or not?” The stranger stepped from his run down truck.
Mother sheep huddled close to father sheep. “Oh, father, they are not kidding! We are to be sold to the people of Dingleville.”
“One more opportunity, father sheep,” stated the Master. “Do you have the wool or not?”
“Just give me a chance,” begged father sheep. “I’ll have your wool by this afternoon.”
“Sir,” continued the man from Dingleville. “I cannot wait. Either you sell me the sheep now or I must be going.”
“We were only kidding. We were going to give you the wool,” pleaded father sheep.
“Please, Master,” interrupted The Boy Down the Lane, pushing through the crowd. “Ask Baa Baa.”
“Baa Baa?” questioned father sheep. “What has Baa Baa got to do with this?”
“Please, Master. Please,” begged The Boy Down the Lane.
“Oh, all right. I’ll ask Baa Baa,” the Master said as he looked into the meadow. “But, if there is no wool the sheep will have to go . . . Baa Baa! Baa Baa! Black Sheep – have you any wool?”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply from the meadow. “Yes, sir, three bags full; one for the Master, one for the Dame, and one for the Little Boy who lives down the Lane.”
The crowd turned to see Baa Baa standing in the middle of the meadow. He was as scrawny as the snake that was slithering through the meadow grass. He was missing all of his beautiful wool. Behind him he was dragging three bags. His own black wool.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the Master turning to the man from Dingleville. “I don’t think we’ll be selling our sheep.”
Baa Baa’s family was noticeably relieved and oh, so very proud.
Oh, Baa Baa Black Sheep
Now you’re standing ten feet tall.
Oh, Baa Baa Black Sheep
You’re the dearest one of all.
You’re our hero-
Baa Baa Black Sheep.
“I’m so very proud of you, son,” father sheep said as he nuzzled next to Baa Baa.
“Very proud,” exclaimed his mother.
“You look a little scrawny,” laughed brother sheep.
“Well, get used to it,” said mother sheep. “From now on we’re all going to give up our wool to the people of Dreamland.
“Do we have to?” asked brother sheep.
“You have to,” replied father sheep.
Baa Baa, and The Boy Down the Lane, taught the sheep, and all of the townspeople of Dreamland, some very valuable lessons about sharing, sacrifice, depending upon one another, and not giving up. The Master continues to tend the meadow. The Dame continues to let the cool, clear water run. And the sheep were so happy that even now, they not only give of their wool when ever they can, but every night when you crawl into bed and you close your eyes, you can see them jumping happily over the Dreamland Meadow fence, one by one, to help you get to sleep.
It’s the quietest hour of the day
Soon the sandman will be here to say,
“Close you eye’s dear little one sleep tight;
Close your eye’s my little one goodnight.
Just close your eyes and dream;
Dream along with me tonight.”