PUSSY WILLOWS.

O MABEL! O Fannie! Come out for fun! Old winter is going! Now, now, there’ll be fun! The boys, with their marbles, are down on their knees, And wee willow pussies are climbing the trees. The dandelion blossoms will show us their gold, The pansies their droll little faces unfold, The blue-birds will come and the robins and bees, For wee willow pussies are climbing the trees. The ants will creep up from their holes in the ground, The blundering beetles will come bumping ’round, The frogs will be singing in all sorts of keys, For wee willow pussies are climbing the trees. I love them! I love them—those sweet little cats! They’re not much for frolic nor catching of rats; But don’t the spring goodies come back by degrees When they are seen climbing the old willow tree? Oh, ar’n’t they just lovely—all clinging so tight— Their whiskers and scratchers tucked clear out of sight A-swinging and swaying in every light breeze? They turn to pure silver, the ugly old trees!