I’ve a hole in the eaves of the house,
And I lie there and play mouse
Till the day is almost gone;
And then I slip out and fly,—
A bird in the evening sky,—
And creep in my hole at dawn.
Because my feathers are fur,
And my wings are of “gossamer,”
And I cannot twitter a note,
Some thing it is quite absurd
That I should pass for a bird,
No matter how well I float!
