With one early morning rising,
squirrels scurrying everywhere.
Without recognition of survival,
one might think they lived without care.
Tails flicking swiftly through the air,
eyes beading all around.
Surely not the more leisure lifestyles,
of cat, domesticated hound.
Pets, they seemed in a sense,
moving, scampering with such little noise.
Reminded much of human play,
those little childhood wind-up toys.
Friends I suppose for some nonconformance,
some aloof, forsaken view.
On one early morning rising,
were my companions of solitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem