I saw the violence of a squirrel
When
he fights for his last meal
But be He large or be He small
He’ll
be cracking nut and all
The
churlish oak that is his home
Reaches its twisted bark
As gloaming
turns to dark
To Everest
tree top crown
When
the bat gangs come to town
The
squirrel courting the dirty dozen
Happens
to mention he is their cousin
They
fling him long and taper and type
To the
end of an oaken limb pipe
And
there all fluting in their jail bird lungs
Commence
to throw him and there he is flung
To see if this relative kind will revert to type
And
swoop and swipe
But he
slings and slouches and gripes
Into
the leaves which wetly wipe
And
leave him not the sugar glider
More
the salt and pepper provider
And so
he settles back to his nestles
And
cracks more nuts above dreaming nettles
Then
the bats fly off to greet the dawn
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