Jake Squirrel’s Harvest

The farmer, now his crops are in,

     Goes forth into the wood,

To gather chestnuts, which when boiled,

     He thinks are very good.

And walnuts, too, he hopes to get,

     He knows just where they lie,

And pokes around the fallen leaves

     With ever searching eye.

He scratches here and scratches there,

     With eager, troubled mind,

But ‘neath the “spreading chestnut tree”,

     No chestnuts can he find.

Jake Squirrel peeps from out his hole

     High in the topmost tree;

“The early squirrel gets the nut,

     You are too late,” laughs he.

Oct. 8, 1904

          (written on a piece of Chicago Press Club stationary)