BM (26-03-45 / Salford, England)

A Wet Squirrel

And there he sat
amid a halo
of raindrops.
handling an acorn
like it was
fine bone china

Whilst all around
towers collaped
Gods were beseeched
and bombs and food fell
like the acorns
discarded shell

Not for him
the worry of poison
by post.
There are always wars,
but only so many
so many acorns
before winter.

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Comments (1)

Survival! Squirrels are wonderful, we have one that sits on our garden fence every morning at exactly the same time. I adore them. This is a lovely write. Love Ernestine XXX