  Where the oak trees tall and stately Stretch great branches to the sky Where the green leaves toss and flutter As the summer days go by, Dwell a crowd of little people, Ever racing up and down, Bright eyes glancing, gray tails whisking; This is known as Squirrel Town. Bless me, what a rush and bustle, As the happy hours speed by! Chatter, chatter—chatter, chitter, Underneath the azure sky. Laughs the brook to hear the clamor; Chirps the Sparrow, gay and brown "Welcome! Welcome, everybody! Jolly place, this Squirrel Town." Honey-bees the fields are roaming; Daisies nod and lilies blow; Soon Jack Frost—the saucy fellow— Hurrying, will come, I know. Crimson leaves will light the woodland; And the nuts come pattering down. Winter store they all must gather— Busy place, then, Squirrel Town. Blowing, blustering, sweeps the north wind— See! the snow is flying fast. Hushed the brook and hushed the Sparrow, For the summer time is past. Yet these merry little fellows Do not fear old Winter's frown; Snug in hollow trees they're hiding. Quiet place is Squirrel Town. —Alix Thorn. |
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