Squirrel

A mystical magic is filling the air -
Its presence touching everywhere;
It's dancing on the autumn breeze,
And transforming the colours of the trees.

The trees, they look as though they're on fire,
But finding some food is my only desire;
Summertime is now over and gone,
And winter days will soon be along.

I'm making plans for the winter ahead,
And cosying up my wintertime bed;
To venture back out, I won't be too keen -
Until, once again, the foliage turns green.

But, if, through the winter, I wish to survive,
I must eat my fill just to stay alive;
There is nothing nicer on a cold, winter's morn,
Than a bellyful of beautiful, golden acorns.

Trees and bushes are now full of fruit,
So I'm stashing away some right tasty loot:
Beech nuts, walnuts, chestnuts sweet -
All kinds of goodies for me to eat.

Nuts, seeds and berries are falling down,
So, for food, I'll forage around on the ground;
Then I'll find myself some small hidey-holes,
And, there, I will bury my pieces of gold.

When the frost arrives, or even a sprinkling of snow,
Back to the hidey-holes, I will then go;
I'll search around, with my keen sense of smell,
For that nutty aroma that my nose knows so well.

I am a creature who's brazen and bold -
Traits which will help me get through the cold;
I will keep my body and soul together,
And sustain myself through even the toughest weather.

By Angela Wybrow
Art Snowwolf