The Chipmunk
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Weather meet,
Like to sherbert
Cool and sweet.
Stock-still I stand,
And him I see
Prying, peeping
From Beech-tree;
Crickling, crackling
Gleefully!
But, affrighted
By wee sound,
Presto! vanish--
Whither bound?
So did Baby,
Crowing mirth
E'en as startled
By some inkling
Touching Earth,
Flit (and whither?)
From our hearth!
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