To A City-Park Squirrel
By Amos Russel Wells
Dear little exile from woodlands dear,
How can you keep your wilderness grace,
How can you bound so merrily here,
Shut in this narrow and formal place?
Still your fancies are forest-free,
Still as gallant you swing and glide
From dusty tree to skeleton tree
As once you roamed through the woodlands wide.
Surely you must, on a witching night,
Flee from the prisoning haunts of men,
Over the housetops take your flight,
And bathe yourself in the woods again!
Monday was a Monday -- things that had to get done, laundry, a new fuzzy heated blanket on the couch that made the cats suspicious until they started fighting over it. The weather was gorgeous and Paul