Your pelt will grace some lady’s cloak,
And now farewell, my agile friend,
Our confab now has reached its end.“
Moral
The squirrel that roams the forest shade,The happiest creature, God e’er made,
For years and ages yet to come,
Will occupy its forest home.
The patient ox, whose faithful toil,
Has helped to cultivate the soil,
In this, our age that is so fast,
Is relegated to the past.
You’ll search this country, round and round
Before an ox team can be found.
The patient ox was far too slow,
For this fast age, he had to go.
And then “old Dobbin” showed his face,
And took the snail-paced ox’s place.
Again, the howling auto came
And put the Dobbins all to shame.
And now we’re taking to the air,
We’ll find all kinds of room up there,
And very soon, the time will come,
When we get tired of staying home.
We’ll saunter to a ten cent store,
Purchase a pair of wings and soar.
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