By Josie Whitehead
‘Who’s that on my trunk?’ the large oak tree said.
‘Who’s creeping and crawling on me?’
‘There’s nothing to fear,’ called a cheeky small voice:
‘We’re caterpillars, all of us, three.’
‘Who’s that on my branch?’ the tree then called out.
‘Who’s singing a song in my ear?’
‘Oh, you’ve no need to worry,’ came back a reply.
‘I’m the blackbird whose song you can hear.’
‘And who’s tap-a-tapping? Whose sharp beak is that?
It’s something that fills me with dread.’
‘Oh stop your complaining. You surely know me!’
A cheeky young woodpecker said.
‘Who’re you in that hole then?’ the large oak tree called.
‘You’re calling for food all the day.’
‘We’re black baby starlings,’ came back the reply -
‘And we hope that we’ll soon fly away.’
‘Who’s that in my treetop? Who’s tickling my leaves?’
‘It’s me,’ the red squirrel replied.
For there’s nobody else who can scale up your trunk,’
And the squirrel was grinning with pride.
The trees provide shelter for many small things.
It’s a haven - a safe place to stay,
And the trees know the visitors who come and who go
And feel sad when they go on their way.
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