The squirrels spiral-argue up the tree,
and tearing bark they chitter-bark back down.
A giant redwood is their armory,
and eucalyptus forms their battleground.
Now crowds of crows send raucous caws around,
while seagulls croon and chickens mutter-cluck,
and chainsaws fill the air with power sound,
invading idyll afternoons by truck.


This entry was posted in Critters, Neighborhood, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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