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Night falls in the Ti-Tree,
Dusk fades from the hill—
The Frogs on their banjoes
Are strumming their fill
With a will.
Banjoes in the near pond
Bones in the other—
In ecstasy Crickets
Outshrill one another.
Shrill.... Shrill....
The Birds are all hushed now
The moon's in the sky—
Around and around us
The little Bats fly,
Waveringly.
The Rabbits have nibbled
Sweet grass on the furrow,
Have frisking and flirting
Loped to their burrow,
Safe on their burrow.
Safe on their burrow.
Are you glad, little Rabbits
To have played yet a day?
Does no foresight show you
What may happen some day?
Wellaway!
For commonest, direst,
Of wild folk's mishaps
Is to find yourselves caught in
Man's merciless traps—
Devil's own snaps.