Poor Poor Wee Little Squirrel Poem by Susan Williams

Poor poor wee little squirrel
he came into our yard today
looking here and looking there
for the tree next door
he likes to climb.
He did not seem to believe his eyes.
Where oh where is my tree? he chittered
What did you do with it? he chattered.
He ran to the right, flipping his tail
in a massive state of irritation
then sat down on his haunches
and stared at what was left of the tree.
What has happened to my tree? he fussed,
You did this, didn't you? he fumed
looking straight at me most belligerently.
It wasn't me I said and in reply he threw a nut at me.
He ran to the left side of the 9 foot tree stump
sat on his haunches and chittered and chattered and scolded
like an aggravated Oklahoma housewife.
What have you done with my tree? he demanded.
He glared about and muttered and spluttered
Dad burn people and their strange ways
can't leave nothing alone..
He finally gave it up in utter disgust.
Did his hopalong gait across the yard,
across the street, and zipped up the tree
and from there he hopped the telephone wire express.
I thought he was gone for good as huffy as he was
but two hours later he was back again with a nut in his mouth
which quieted him some.
He diddy-bopped his way across the street
right up to the remnant of his old tree
and dug a hole at the base of it
and plopped that nut right in and buried it tight.
Perhaps next year I shall be writing a poem about
the tree that wouldn't die...
and dedicate it to Monsieur the Nutty Scolding Squirrel.
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~©Susan Williams