Poetry
A small ball of fur skips along the ground,
A huge bushy tail dancing after,
His cargo an acorn he is carrying around,
His squeaky voice reminds me of laughter,
He runs to and fro in the waning sun,
His quarry unknown it seems to him,
His skipping jumps seem so much fun,
Just bouncing around on a whim,
Eventually he comes to a halt,
His whiskered nose sniffing the air,
Once happy nothing is at fault,
He digs deep to his pantry lair,
He lays his prize amongst others,
And relays the soft earth as was found,
He then trots off up a tree and recovers,
And comes home to rest high off the ground,
As the nights wear on this autumn fades,
And a wintry white falls upon the land,
An orange fleck into the snow invades,
The fox in contrast appears so grand,
His scrying nose lures him through the trees,
Locked on to our bushy-tailed friend,
Our hunter starving and weak at the knees,
But the squirrel still meets his end.
Now the months roll on across the sky,
Clouds eventually giving way to blue,
Now the snow clears back to mountains high,
And the first buds of spring come through,
Our bushy tailed friend now gone away,
Leaves his forethoughtful planning unplundered,
Deep within his underground food stay,
The acorns shells are sundered,
But no foulness here is at play,
Just a wonder growing inside,
Beginnings of life start this way,
With protective shells flung wide,
A few more weeks and the soil is broke,
By our light seeking strand of green,
As if pulled hard by an oxen's yoke,
Tho its growing strength is unseen,
Bigger it gets as the weeks wear on,
Time seems to accelerate as it passes,
years flit by, the flash of the returning sun,
And the come and go of the grasses.
lts trunk grows strong and wide,
Its boughs seem to touch the sky,
The tree and the clouds collide,
It lords in the lands that it lies,
Amongst its arms the animals live,
They grow and breed and sing,
A natural home it can give,
And around, hear the harmony ring,
And one morning late in autumn,
A squirrel comes down from the tree,
His cargo an acorn tight to his tum,
His squeaky voice sounds so free,
Once stowed, he rests, his small part played,
In a playful game of chance,
The investment supplied by plant to trade,
For a bushy tailed fertility dance,
And tho such a small part is his act,
lts effect is so astounding,
Plant and animal deep in pact,
Harmonious resonance is sounding,
Tho inconsequential may seem this sight,
Unfathomable relevance to the world,
Respect for leaf and claw is right,
Watching its beauties unfurl...
A huge bushy tail dancing after,
His cargo an acorn he is carrying around,
His squeaky voice reminds me of laughter,
He runs to and fro in the waning sun,
His quarry unknown it seems to him,
His skipping jumps seem so much fun,
Just bouncing around on a whim,
Eventually he comes to a halt,
His whiskered nose sniffing the air,
Once happy nothing is at fault,
He digs deep to his pantry lair,
He lays his prize amongst others,
And relays the soft earth as was found,
He then trots off up a tree and recovers,
And comes home to rest high off the ground,
As the nights wear on this autumn fades,
And a wintry white falls upon the land,
An orange fleck into the snow invades,
The fox in contrast appears so grand,
His scrying nose lures him through the trees,
Locked on to our bushy-tailed friend,
Our hunter starving and weak at the knees,
But the squirrel still meets his end.
Now the months roll on across the sky,
Clouds eventually giving way to blue,
Now the snow clears back to mountains high,
And the first buds of spring come through,
Our bushy tailed friend now gone away,
Leaves his forethoughtful planning unplundered,
Deep within his underground food stay,
The acorns shells are sundered,
But no foulness here is at play,
Just a wonder growing inside,
Beginnings of life start this way,
With protective shells flung wide,
A few more weeks and the soil is broke,
By our light seeking strand of green,
As if pulled hard by an oxen's yoke,
Tho its growing strength is unseen,
Bigger it gets as the weeks wear on,
Time seems to accelerate as it passes,
years flit by, the flash of the returning sun,
And the come and go of the grasses.
lts trunk grows strong and wide,
Its boughs seem to touch the sky,
The tree and the clouds collide,
It lords in the lands that it lies,
Amongst its arms the animals live,
They grow and breed and sing,
A natural home it can give,
And around, hear the harmony ring,
And one morning late in autumn,
A squirrel comes down from the tree,
His cargo an acorn tight to his tum,
His squeaky voice sounds so free,
Once stowed, he rests, his small part played,
In a playful game of chance,
The investment supplied by plant to trade,
For a bushy tailed fertility dance,
And tho such a small part is his act,
lts effect is so astounding,
Plant and animal deep in pact,
Harmonious resonance is sounding,
Tho inconsequential may seem this sight,
Unfathomable relevance to the world,
Respect for leaf and claw is right,
Watching its beauties unfurl...