Chip was very happy
Sitting on his box
It was covered in bright colours
Like a technicolour fox

There was nothing but air inside it
That Chip was not too bright
But he flopped himself onto the floor
Under the lamp’s bright light

“Go away,” the beaver yelled
If anyone came near
“It’s mine and you can’t have it”
He might sit there all year

So Chip sat there upon his box
For a year and maybe more
He sat there for so very long
That his beaver butt got sore

And so this year on Christmas
A new box under the tree
Chip chewed it up, sat down
And said, “This box is just for me”

But has Chip learned his lesson
To not sit there all year?
Time will tell if Chip gets wise
And gets up off his rear