Three squirrel call my yard home,
I name them Taw, Khon, At –
They require little tact, just seed and corn,
and to be left alone.
They tend to acorns, nuts,
seem to have time enough
to pause, read the sky,
watch clouds scudding by.
I watch them from window,
doors. Just as minnows score
the water, they shift the dry grasses,
ignorant of my regard.
Ceaseless in their industry,
their rush and moan and roll,
their time here spent, then gone,
as hawks circle, ready to gather their normal toll.
Writer Moe 