Ho! To be that white-tailed deer,
Who browses ‘mongst the elms and pines,
And walks the tumble-down rock fence lines,
As I bid the first snowflake “Appear!”.
O! To be that fox of the glen,
Who seeks all manner of food and forage,
To fatten his flanks with winter storage,
When the drifting snows surround my den.
Alas! To be that little boy,
Raking leaf piles, carving pumpkins,
Stuffing a scarecrow country bumpkin,
Anticipating Halloween with joy.