The squirrel is fickle
And bright
Its ears stand out
Listening, thinking,
Planning its way
Through the grass
Up a tree
Living for another day.
Its furry body
Leaps about
Climbing along fences
Finding its favorite food
To munch on,
It knows
It smells good.
A squirrel can be seen
In a park
Looting dustbins
And eating nuts
Hiding in trees
Climbing branches
Searching its way
Everyday.
On a sunny day
A squirrel is there
Enjoying the warmth
Finding its place
To have its feast
Eating, cherishing
Their nuts
And insects
Biting, chewing, spitting,
Into something
Fitting.
The squirrel
Looks up
It stares
With its large
Dark eyes
Seeding and binding
Its time.
The squirrel never
Gets close
For anything bigger
Or surprising
Sends a shocking
Ripple
To its furry
Frightening body
scarpering it away
Into a quiet place.
©️ Denise Larkin 2020. All Rights Reserved.
This poem was also published on Medium.com
About the Creator
Denise Larkin
A writer with a BA in Arts & Humanities (specialism Creative Writing), studying for an MA in Creative Writing, writes poetry and fictional short stories. The author of Time to Run, The Island of Love, Darkness, and The Non-Human.
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