You weave and cleave through fallen
That litter sprawling lawns in crispy heaps.
You bob along the eaves.
You romp in gnarly trees where Winter creeps
With whisperings of death on frosty lips –
A ghastly pledge
That fires desire in you to get to grips
With feats to keep your fate from famine’s edge.
You prick fierce ears and flick your tufty tail,
Enchanting spies with eyes trained on your verve.
You navigate a trail
Of treasures with each ounce of nous and nerve,
Till swells of shell-clad gems are hidden well
From bird and beast
Ensorcelled by the sneak-a-pecan spell.
No jaws or beak will steal your secret feast.
Your nosy foes abhor your foxy splash
Of ginger tinged with grey. Your puffed-up air
Of fluffy-brush panache
And flash of ratty dash snared in their
Kindle flinty glints that hint of war.
It’s nuts, nuts, nuts!
‘Tis clawed upon the log of squirrel lore –
With grit and guts preserve your nutty gluts!
Susan Jarvis Bryant
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan Jarvis Bryant
would be pleased to hear them