by Anonymouse

Perched on a branch
In a tall, tall tree,
The rodent s thought-patterns:
We do aspire to them.
The skwerl is the nut; the nut is the skwerl.
Its fine dark eyes see only simplicity.
It gazes upon the nut, sees the universe
In all its complexity
A singular blessing
In the form of today s breakfast.
The ovoid curves
Chime nature s lovesong.

The furry little critter does not despise you
For cutting down its tree-house.
It does not judge.
It only wants its precious nuts.
How pure and unspoiled.

Ah! pity the fool
Who does not see
This wholesome singularity.
For all the wrongs and rights of the world
Are but meaningless ripples in the mind of a skwerl.
Think about it.