The Squirrel

IT must be risky To frolic so frisky Up in a swaying tree; To scamper and skip On a pine tree’s tip As you chatter away at me!

Now what’s your hurry, You wood-imp furry, In your snug little suit of gray? You romp and rolic With fun and frolic Like wind with the leaves at play.

O nervous nixie With ways so trixie, Fidgety sprite so frail! Sit up and munch At your pine-nut lunch In the shade of your bushy tail!