human
Can you write me a poem about banjo, cricket and spring in the style of F. Marion (Francis Marion) Crawford?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about banjo, cricket and spring in the style of F. Marion (Francis Marion) Crawford:
  Night falls in the Ti-Tree,
Dusk fades from the hill--
The Frogs on their banjoes
Are strumming their fill
With a will.
Banjoes in the near pond
Bones in the other--
In ecstasy Crickets
Outshrill one another.
The Birds are all hushed now
The moon's in the sky--
Around and around us
The little Bats fly,
The Rabbits have nibbled
Sweet grass on the furrow,
Have frisking and flirting
Loped to their burrow,
Safe on their burrow.
Safe on their burrow.
Are you glad, little Rabbits
To have played yet a day?
Does no foresight show you
What may happen some day?
For commonest, direst,
Of wild folk's mishaps
Is to find yourselves caught in
Man's merciless traps--
Devil's own snaps.
They set them and lay them
In your very door,
Then craftily strew them
With sand and leaves o'er,
Craftily o'er.
You step out unwitting,
Bright moon inviting--
Ah! What a spring when
You taste its fierce biting;
Steel chain affrighting,
You scream in your anguish,
A mute thing by kind!
You make but the search easy
When Death comes to find,
O easily find!
Yet God was on your side,
Else why did He make
Such long ears to hearken?
Such bright eyes to wake?
And so, little Rabbits,
In danger some day,
Remember Who's for you,
Flirt tails and away!