Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I'd a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go.
To A Squirrel At Kyle-na-no
William Butler Yeats
(1)
Poem topics: tree, head, play, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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