Chipmunks

Here’s a pretty sight to see,
Chipmunks racing on a tree;
Round and round and never stop
Till they reach the very top,
And then down with round and round
Winding till they touch the ground:
Full of sprees but never drink,
Chipmunk is the merriest monk.

Would you like to hear him scold
Come, when days are growing cold,
To his nutting ranch & — Whew!
Heard you ever such a shrew?
“Quit ye, quit! “ he shrieks, & — “quick!
Quick get out you!” —with a flick
Of the bushy tail he flaps
Like a whip the jockey snaps.

O, a busy boy is he,
Up and down the chestnut-tree,
With his cheeks like double mumps
That he cures in hollow stump;
For, you see, he takes his cheeks
For a nutting bag, and seeks
An old stump to hide his store,
And then hurries back for more.

He who made for Eve & Adam
Coats of skins in which he clad ‘em
Dressed my chipmunks in this way
In fine furs for every day’
Gloves of softest squirrel-skin
Fold their pretty fingers in;
Snugger waistcoats never were 
Than their dainty robes of fur!