[Illustration]

I long to try my limbs a bit,
And you must walk with me;
Our joints are good
Though made of wood,
And I pine for liberty.

[Illustration]

For twelve long months we've lain in here.
But we don't care a fig;
When wide awake
It does not take
Us long to dance a jig.

[Illustration]

But who comes here across our path,
In gay attire bedight?
A little girl
With hair in curl,
And eyes so round and bright.

[Illustration]

Good evening Miss, how fine you look,
Beside you I feel bare;
I must confess