The Ride

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?