Art

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!