Is the dainty flying squirrel
In vest of shining white,
In coat of silver gray,
And vest of shining white.
His furry Quaker jacket
Is trimmed with stripe of black;
A furry plume to match it
Is curling o'er his back;
New curved with every motion,
His plume curls o'er his back.
No little new-born baby
Has pinker feet than he;
Each tiny toe is cushioned
With velvet cushions three;
Three wee, pink, velvet cushions
Almost too small to see.
Who said, "The foot of baby
Might tempt an angel's kiss"?
I know a score of school-boys
Who put their lips to this,—
This wee foot of the squirrel,
And left a loving kiss.
The tiny thief has hidden
My candy and my plum;
Ah, there he comes unbidden
To gently nip my thumb,—
Down in his home (my pocket)
He gently nips my thumb.
