Every morning I feed the squirrels,

And the birds.

Fill the birdbath with fresh water.

Look out my sliding doors

Into the yard full of flowers

And wildlife, zooming birds

And fighting squirrels.

One morning was very quiet

In the yard.

I could see a bit of fuzz

From behind the big oak tree.

For a long time there was no movement,

Nothing else came into the yard.

I opened the doors and called:

Who is that behind that tree?

A little squirrel pulled himself out

From behind the tree by his front legs,

And plopped back on the ground.

He looked at me with beseeching eyes,

Confused and hurt and scared.

I knew I couldn’t approach him,

I would only scare him more.

So I sat on the stairs of the porch

And talked to him,

So he wouldn’t be alone.

“What is the matter, little squirrel,

Are you hurt”

I could tell he could not walk.

Perhaps he fell from the tree

And broke his legs,

It was really sad to see.

I told him it would be all right,

I would stay right there with him.

I saw him relax his body,

He stretched his front arms out.

Then he raised his tail as high he could,

I swear he sighed,

And closed his eyes.

The yard was so still, I knew he was dead,

And I started to cry for him.

I thought: no person or animal should die alone

And I was glad I’d stayed and talked.

I took his little body

Over to the woods,

Laid him down, and covered him with leaves;

Blinked my eyes, and headed home.

A spot of sorrow in my heart,

For the little unknown squirrel.