by L. Dalton

Created on: March 08, 2009

The Squirrel

The morning dawns, with a golden glow.

It warms the spirit, as the eye beholds.

The tips of tree branches sway to and fro,

as the squirrel glides, in the way, only he knows.

Dew sparkles like jewels, at early dawn,

scampering around, like a new born fawn.

He drinks the dew from off the ground,

while always on guard of what's around.

His bounty, he had buried, then a time before snow,

he seeks to find sustenance, then he must go.

He now has little ones, he must feed.

No one else, do they have to supply this need.

From branch to branch he travels on;

gathering morsels of nourishment.

Out to the branch's tip he ventures upon.

Whoops! A slip, as he finds another limb to grip.

The top of the tree is not far away.

Glowing, the sun lights up his underside.

Searching out food for his family today,

in no world, but his own, does he abide.

Each limb he has ventured, to seek his need,

in hast, but with quite and graceful leaps.

Now, hastily he runs, as a gallant steed,

back to the nest, with food, his family reaps.

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