The Hedgehog


What's this round and prickly thing?
Can it be a pincushion?

No! Pincushions never grow
In the fields where daisies blow.

Oh! and now I see a nose
With four little tiny toes,.

And as it opens in the sun
How those black beetles cut and run!

But see, it hears a barking dog
And rolls up safe, that poor hedgehog.

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