The Squirrel On The Bench Poem by Bryan Taplits

The sun was out-I could shout-
The winter's ice was gone,
The bench was mine-the weather fine-
I could have sung a song.
I saw a squirrel in my purview
She stopped and looked around,
Alone and safe-was this poor waif-
warm winds the only sound.
Her neck was on a swivel though-
she seemed to flutter forth,
but how this lass along her path
checked out her wayward course.
So thank you Ms Squirrel-for what on this bench I intend to do-
I may not need to be as alert-but just in case...
I gladly do 'thank you!