I’ll start the spring with a poem for the bushy-tailed tree climber that delighted me today.
by John B. Tabb
Who combs you, little Squirrel?
And do you twist and twirl
When some one puts the papers on
To keep your tail in curl?
And must you see the dentist
For every tooth you break?
And are you apt from eating nuts
To get the stomach-ache?