Watching and waiting,
expectant, stock still,
as wind soughs through treetops
of larch on the hill.
We feel joyous tension.
Dare not even blink.
Suddenly it is there;
climbs a tree in a wink.
A bushy tailed beauty,
with effortless motion.
Athletic perfection,
complete control; no caution.
It dances back and forth
as if walking on air.
Each movement secure,
achieved without care.
Oblivious to our presence
it races up and down,
crisscrossing branches
from tree butt to crown.
Such power and prowess;
consummate agility:
compared to our moribund
overriding fragility.
This precious red squirrel
cherished creature of the wild,
just need to conserve it
like a favorite child.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem