Classic Poem

It isn't rain, it doesn't patter?
It doesn't run, can hardly matter?

Much too soft to be a squirrel?
Far too quick to start a quarrel?

Clearly up atop the house?
Much too daring for a mouse?

Louder though than any spook?
We could see if we could look?

But how penetrate the ceiling?
Pierce the room through steady peeling?

Scraping paint, cement or rafter?
Digging holes and growing dafter?

There's no way to catch a proof?
Unless we can reach the roof?

The thing undoubtedly has feet?
Tap the least bit and repeat?

In between a silent stop?
Making tap and tap a hop?

Slow we are and so absurd.
The noise is nothing but a bird.