His back is stuck with prickly pins
That breezes whistle through,
And when the winter-time begins
The only thing to do
Is just to find a leafy spot,
And curl up from the rain,
Until the Spring comes bright and hot,
To waken him again.
The owls and rats and all their folk
Are soft and smooth to touch,
But hedgehogs are not nice to stroke,
Their prickles hurt so much.
So though it looks a little queer,
His coat is best of all;
For nobody could interfere
With such a bristly ball.