Wednesday, March 16, 2016


                   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.