And the nuts come pattering down.
Winter store they all must gather—
Busy place, then, Squirrel Town.
Blowing, blustering, sweeps the north wind—
See! the snow is flying fast.
Hushed the brook and hushed the Sparrow,
For the summer time is past.
Yet these merry little fellows
Do not fear old Winter's frown;
Snug in hollow trees they're hiding.