A little squirrel named Ripple skibbled o’er
The dew-damp lawn, chasing after nuts
That Kimmie’d flung, and hoping she’d throw more,
For his whole tribe were hustling their butts
And nabbing peanuts left and right to stuff
Into their bulging cheeks before their climb
Back to their nests, hoping they had enough
To feed their young, all chittering by this time.
Then after Ripple and his tribe ascended,
Down swooped the chirping birds to take their turn,
Leaving their chicks just briefly unattended
But feeding them their paramount concern,
And so their day begins in our back yard
Where getting a good breakfast isn’t hard.