Squirrels in Fall

Squirrels are such an odd little rodent,
Yet there is a familiarity that is potent.

Like when I’m driving in our neighborhood
And come upon a frantic darter for dear life,
Slamming on my breaks and staring at it so,
I drive soberly after its gaze, as back it stood.

Or how we humans work to our bones and then some;
These jokers are always on the move, here and there,
Down the tree, behind a bush, digging in the open,
Yet keeping an eye out for what may or may not come.

It’s odd we’re not outside to see
Where they sleep, how they keep,
Do they weep, how slant is steep?
For them, we don’t look out to see.

Its also odd how they’re not inside to notice
Our home inside a door that’s kind of like a hole
Or our mealtimes at a table as at the top of a pole.
For us, we’d never invite them in to notice.

No, the leaves leave us listening,
As the sun shines on us, glistening,
Knowing we’re alike in a way, somehow,
Yet unlike each other in manners endowed.

Humans must be such overlords
To squirrels most largely ignored.

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