 | Forest Notes |  |
46
THE SQUIRREL
Among the English oaks, where great boughs spread,
My wee friend wore a coat of foxy red,
And with his brush held high, from overhead
He watched us, peeping.
My wee friend wore a coat of foxy red,
And with his brush held high, from overhead
He watched us, peeping.
In Kansas Woods, a year ago to-day,
His little coat was unfamiliar grey,
And like a silver flash he crossed the way
Up maple leaping.
His little coat was unfamiliar grey,
And like a silver flash he crossed the way
Up maple leaping.
47
And here amid these dark Bavarian firs
His coat is black; a mourning garb he wears;
Munching a fir-cone, from the boughs he peers,
While noon is creeping
His coat is black; a mourning garb he wears;
Munching a fir-cone, from the boughs he peers,
While noon is creeping
E.
| Forest Notes | |