“I wouldn’t be a pigeon
And live in an old red barn,
I’d rather be here when the weather is drear
And watch Mrs. Bunny darn.”
Which made the kind lady rabbit laugh, for she spent lots of time, let me tell you, darning the holes in her little bunny boy’s golf stockings.
[MISS PUSSY]
The pumpkins in the cornfield
Are as yellow as can be,
And the apples, red and golden,
Are hanging on the tree,
The grapes in purple clusters
Are swinging on the vine,
And the old crow’s nest is empty
Upon the lonely pine.
“Ha, ha,” shouted Little Jack Rabbit, as Billy Breeze blew across the Sunny Meadow, and, let me tell you, Billy Breeze was just a little bit chilly, this cool November morning.
“I wonder what I’ll do,” thought the little rabbit, and he wiggled his little pink nose sideways, and then off he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, and by and by he came to an old hollow stump. So he peeked in, and then, all of a sudden, a purring voice asked:
“What are you doing, Mr. Curious One?”
“Oh, I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” answered the little bunny. “I just wanted to see what was inside.”