The corn-stalks lean in pointed sheaves,
Bare branches sing against the blue;
The lawn ’s a sea of withered leaves
That shizzle as my feet go through.
And Mike ahead and I behind
Are raking hard as hard can be.
Oh, see them whirling in the wind,
Just like a waterspout at sca!
And I dive in; I jump and twirl,
Caught up from earth and floating off;
And now I plunge where breakers curl,
Engulfed within the ocean’s trough.
I sink, I gasp: for help I 've waved;
But Michael will not turn his head.
Lost, lost in Shizzle Sea!—No, saved!
I 'm “rescued”—on the flower-bed!
Now I 'm a mole. I ’ve tunneled through
That leafy mountain, quite a while,
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Just see how straight I burrowed to
The center of that ’normous pile!
Here, wrapped in leaves from foot to head.
Who cares what wind or snow may do?
I ‘'m Bruin making up his bed
To sleep the whole long winter through.
At last our leaves are heaped, and show
Against the dusk in jutting peaks,
Like Indian wigwams, row on row,
Whose smoke ascends in coils and streaks.
They catch, they blaze! The camp ’s aflame!
And I, the hostile chief, Red Cloud,
Steal, crawling slyly, on my game,
To whoop the war-cry long and loud!
Too soon the war-dance ends; too soon
The blaze is sunk in smoldering gray.
Up rakes, and homeward by the moon!
A fine day’s work we "ve done to-day!
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