Up into the Cherry Tree,
Who should climb but little me,
With both my Paws I hold on tight,
And look upon a pleasant sight.
There are the Gardens far away,
Where little Foreign Kittens play,
And those queer specks of black and brown
Are naughty cats that live in Town.
And there among the tulips red,
Where I may never lay my head,
I see the Cruel Gardener hoe
The baby weeds that may not grow.
Now I climb down—“Oh dear,”—I mew,
“Which end goes first—what shall I do?
Oh, good Kind Gardener, big and brown,
Please come and help this Kitten down.”