The new year is twelve days old;
my resolves, already dissolved,
have been thrown out in the cold.
My diet failed, my morals too.
I ask you, what’s a squirrel to do?
My winter coat is fitting tight,
Quite pleasingly, as you can see.
Even so, I must watch my weight.
And just to you, I now confess.
(If you tell, I’ll claim duress.)
Despite my bounteous hidden stash,
(there is plenty more, let me assure)
I’ve committed deeds both bold and brash.
I stole the woodchuck’s favored seed;
I figured, how much could he need?
I pilfered the robin’s suet ball,
I am so ashamed; I accept the blame.
I really can’t offer any excuse at all.
But there is more, oh woe is me.
It is stolen but it isn’t free:
My conscience will not let me sleep.
I turn and toss in my bed of moss
and when I awake I eat and eat,
But the worst of all, as a bad crime goes,
I’m munching on the snowman’s nose.