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.
Cookies on Poetry Cove
We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
TO A SQUIRREL AT KYLE-NA-GNO · William Butler Yeats · Poetry Cove