The Grace Poem by Smoky Hoss

They show up every morning
for breakfast
just outside of my sliding glass door.
A black and a fox squirrel.
The awaiting meal I prepare daily for them
is rather simple:
all the sunflower seeds they care to eat...
sorry guys, coffee for humans only;
they don't seem to mind.
When they eat
they appear to be in a posture of prayer,
hands folded up high, close to their mouth,
jaw moving rapidly
as if issuing out so many concerns
to the Lord. Perhaps gratitude,
for the meal.
I offer my own prayer upward,
'Thank you God for the squirrels,
my friends, my breakfast companions.'
Then I speak aloud, 'Amen'.
At that the squirrel stops,
looks at me directly through the glass
between us,
looks left, looks right, finally
looks up.
Then returns to fast-paced chewing.
The grace all around us
is complete.