Snug the squirrel lies
In his mossy lair
Where no tooth of frost
Has ever reached.
From his lofty cell
He surveys all things
With their strife below
As a peace-flag swings
High on the pine.
In the cradle-fort
What a joy to rest
Rocking in the sweet
Spruce’s mother-breast
To Forestland’s music!
At a small window
The bobtail dozes
And the birds sing him
When the day closes
To Dreamland’s gold.
by Aleksis Kivi (1834 – 1872), Finland
