a rung out one down
a fairway off a bald spot
a mount ie red
where squirrels root air
when oak bark a squatter @
while repast as halves
the shone in a shade
oriel maids sway & reel
a lad cf all
a rung out one down
a fairway off a bald spot
a mount ie red
where squirrels root air
when oak bark a squatter @
while repast as halves
the shone in a shade
oriel maids sway & reel
a lad cf all
Does the squirrel not argue politics?
When one is beneath the acorn a foot with wrath?
Wait a minute for the bluejay to complain pointing out weak point in the debate.
Turn sideway between barking up the wrong tree, throwing pine-cones the naked diplomat.
Barking up the wrong tree.
Surely the squirrels must agree.
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Squirrels are not that strange…they only dig holes and forget where that was;
perhaps, if we all dress’d in feathers hereon a garb old, a golden egg on edge the age,
who wouldn’t…
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