WHEN I'm sitting
At my knitting
After tea--
Deary me!
Such commotion,
Land o' Goshen!
And it's all
In the wall.
Rumble, tumble,
Flurry, scurry.
Now a rushing,
And a crushing;
Now a rattle,
And a battle;
Now a squeak
And a fall
[Illustration]
So I sit
And I knit;
And I ponder
And wonder,
And scarcely know how,
In the racket and row,
My wits to recall.
[Illustration]
But the clatter,
For that matter,
And the rumble
And tumble
And scratching
And catching
Keep on
Through it all.
[Illustration]
Rats in dozens,
With their cousins,
Or in droves,
With their loves:
Now it's raps,
Now it's taps,
Or it's crunching,
Or munching;
Or a creak,
Or a shriek;
If I knew
What to do,
Or you'd show
Where to go,
I'd be off
Like a streak.
[Illustration]
But no, I must stay
While they clamor away.
Traps, cats,
Sticks or rats--
Bane or gun,
It's all one.
No, it's fudge,
They won't budge!
[Illustration]
Rat are rats,
Spite of cats
And the rest.
But--my star!--
Beginning or end
Or middle, depend
The things are a pest;
And they're all
In the wall,
So they are!
[Illustration]
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