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Animal Games Catching the cold Arctic blast Sitting outside I knew couldn’t last I watched from the aged firs ringed years Where the pitiful crow sits and leers At the black squirrel near his stoop Click-clicking his way towards another loop And run for the pine nuts to stash away When the crow decides to go out and play Harassing the poor squirrel back to his lair Squirrel’s back hunched up to the very last hair Black crow, black grow get the hell out of here The squirrel didn’t give a damn had no fear C-caw C-caw the crow left in disgust The squirrel won his round his chest swelled to bust Thank goodness there is a level field So that even blustery crow had the sense to yield |
Additional Notes:
A departure for me...to write a poem in rhyme. Nowhere near perfect, but hey, what is?
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