The summer's gone and autumn's due;
I hear the squirrel squeak this morn;
Its noisiness is heard again,
Disturbing neighbor-hood each dawn.
The fruits on trees are small, unripe;
The squirrel's hunger pangs are high;
It does not find fruits to nibble,
As subdued taste-buds, almost cry.
But soon, the rodent's life will change,
As ripened fruits and nuts emerge;
Its wait for months is on the wane;
Its gala time is on the verge.
Dr John Celes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-squirrel-3/
