Half the creaking crickets ’twixt the poplars and the pine Own the frog their master yet they fear with him to dine. Wherefore the fear? The reason’s clear: the crickets have no spine. Wild crows are always hungry for they hate all that they scour: Apples make them pucker and they think the grapes too sour. So with empty plates they crow ’till late, long past the supper hour. The squirrel in the hollow has a mind that’s very shallow, His cheeks are very puffy, for he oft forgets to swallow; Ere autumn ends, he downs it then, and sleeps on leafy pillow. Robbins every morning have to wrestle with a hassle: In the summer all their feathers scratch their throats like little thistles; Do these rusty-coloured feathers cause their early-morning whistle? Eh?