On the Tree Top

Bless us, and save us! What's here?

Pop!

At a bound,

A tiny brown creature, grotesque in his grace,

Is sitting before us, and washing his face

With his little fat paws overlapping;

Where does he hail from? Where?

Why, there,

Underground,

From a nook just as cosey,

And tranquil, and dozy,

As e'er wooed to Sybarite napping

(But none ever caught him a-napping).

Don't you see his burrow so quaint and queer?