Behind the Stove the Cricket Sang On a Stage

Behind the stove the cricket sang on a stage, One song after another in the unbroken line. Like for a mammoths, who lived in the ice Age, Such for a cricket, longs a winter time. A cricket voice so soft and pretty bland, When a snow rages in a wildish scary pace. I take it like regards from a teeny -little friend, Which hiding in a secret tiny place So let the storm to rave and rage a lot, And let the wind bend trees in a frighten night, Peace in my soul - as a stove are pretty hot, And a trill of the singer fill of such delight!