A squirrel from his tree-house poked out his head,
It's high time for my breakfast he happily said.
So he ran down the tree trunk and pattered around,
His bushy tail trailing, his nose to the ground.
He looked here, he looked there, through the white snow,
Till he found a nut, hidden below,
And into his cheek he popped the nut with glee,
Then Mr. Squirrel scampered back up the tree.
If you look very sharply, maybe you'll spy
Mr. Squirrel at his door, ever so high.
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