In and out the bushes, up the ivy, Into the hole By the old oak stump, the chipmunk flashes. Up the pole. To the feeder full of seeds he dashes, Stuffs his cheeks. The chickadee and titmouse scold him. Down he streaks. Red as the leaves the wind blows off the maple, Red as a fox, Striped like a skunk, the chipmunk whistles Past the love seat, past the mailbox, Down the path, Home to his warm hole stuffed with sweet Things to eat. Neat and slight and shining, his front feet Curled at his breast, he sits there while the sun Stripes the red west With its last light: the chipmunk Dives to his rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISAPPOINTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR GOBLIN MARKET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI KITTY NEIL by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER A SEA-PRAYER by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE SECOND SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |