The tree beetles go away.
On a whirling stream they sway,
They fly off to their dwelling
Through the forest, self-propelling.

Our stag beetle, with glee,
Made herself a cup of tea
Took a blank sheet for this task,
Put ink in the acorn flask,
And wrote:
        
Dear friend Mink,
         If you catch a tree beetle,
         Don't think!
         Dip it in ink!
              
                Saying Hi,
                 Your friend,
                 Lucanus Cervus.