Grey fur exploding through the tree’s

Like lightning racing in the breeze

With squawking thunder in loud report

At fevered pitch through this branched resort.

As locomotive’s running wild

Pulling trains through mountain miles

Nine squirrels race frantic in swift pursuit

Dart up and down from crown to root.

Then two or three or four or more

Will mix it up in hell bent roar

In a fight you’d swear was meant for death

As fur is flying you hold your breath.

They bite and claw and screech in fright

Within the leaves you soon loose sight

Then through mid-air one fly’s with ease

To catch a new branch in the tree’s.

He’s succeeded in his great escape

And lived to fight another day.

So when you’ve nothing more to do

Just sit and watch all wildlife prove,

That though man can make a circus, true

Our best efforts to nature lose

For they can entertain the best

When we recline and watch at rest.