A squirrel,
on walking by my window,
paused,
sensing he was not alone,
a piece of winter fruit
held tight in his jaw.
He turned in my direction
as if to say,
“This is my nut.”
I agreed that it was.
Then he went back
the way that he came,
dug a little
pine needle cave,
and buried the secret nut,
covering it
with nimble paws.
“No one will find my nut.”
I agreed that no one would--
unless that one was I.
Satisfied,
he returned to the bush
to hunt some more.
Written 2007-2009ish. Revised today. I was at a monotonous job at that time and often found myself staring out the window writing little poems instead of working. I will never reveal the location though, lest I betray my squirrel friend’s secret. 😉
comedy, everyday life, freestyle, nature, non-rhyming, short
Dinosaur Fondue Poetry 