This is a little grass Midget,

As you know a most terrible fidget.

For a month every year

He makes it quite clear

That he is a little grass Midget.

I hope they're on pegs,

Because if they're legs,

They are altogether shocking.

They have no feet,

And almost meet,

And haven't the sign of a stocking.

Why, here's our dear old hopper,

Our Kangar-rooster-roo!

And seeing he's such a whopper,

I'll certainly not say "Shoo"!

Then there are two, you see,

So I'd better hold my peace,

Or they may sit on me

And leave me a crumpled crease.

A Squidgeecumsquee

Got up in a tree,

And found another—

The fac simile.

"Oh dear! oh my!"

He said jumping high,

"It's surely my brother—

What a horrible guy!"

"You jump over to me," said Sue.

"I wish you would come to me,"

said Loo;

"As sure as I jump

I'll kick that stump,

So really I'd rather let you."

Now this is just the funniest rogue,

A Brownie as black as ink,

And what he's doing perched up there,

I'm sure I cannot think.

He's holding his arms like a pair of sails;

Perhaps he's trying to fly.

Let's hope he won't be playing that game

When you and I pass by.