Where do all the squirrels go?

Where do all the squirrels go?
Do they sleep in beds?
Do they nest up in the trees
Where leaves protect their heads?
Do they hide near river banks
And burrow in the mud?
Do they hunker down in caves
With campfires made of wood?

I don’t know where the squirrels go
But I hope that they are well.
I hope that they feel safe and warm
Throughout this chilly spell.


Put me in an igloo.
Bury me in ice.
That frosty dome will be my home–
My pallid paradise.

Leave me in my igloo.
Leave me there alone.
The chilling breeze may stave disease,
But frost will touch my bones.

Silence in my igloo.
Quietly I freeze.
A single tear in mourning here;
A diamond on my cheek.