On the Tree Top

each one stands
While the mittens are tried on his clumsy hands;
Then her glasses drop to the end of her nose,
And her wits go wandering off in a doze,

And as never before,
Does old Puss snore!

She is off to that dream-land paradise
Of cats, where cupboards are full of mice;
Where white and sweet and big as the sea
Are the saucers of warm new milk--ah me,

There is no cream
Like that in a dream!

There the ways of things are very absurd;
For a bobolink, or a yellow bird,
Comes of its own accord, and sits
On every knitting-needle that knits,

And pipes and sings,
As the rocker swings.

Suddenly there is a noise of feet--
Rattle and clatter and patter and beat!
Old Puss makes a flying leap from her chair,
With a half-awake and startled stare,

Striving to see
What it may be.

Helter-skelter the kittens appear;
"Oh mother dear, we very much fear
That we have lost our mittens!" they cry.
"