SQUIRREL TOWN. 
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. 
— Aux Thorn. 
4 
