While everything of beauty dies,
And you can hear the wild bird’s cries,
A squirrel runs franticly from branch to branch.
His red-gold fur gleams in the shining dawn,
As he gazes down at a young fawn,
Loping peacefully among the colourful leaves.
Red, green and orange crunch beneath him,
He gnaws at vegetation on a mere whim,
Then he flees at the sight of a burly hunter.
With a short bang and a soft thud,
The deer’s fur becomes matted with blood,
The hunter proudly advances to claim his prize.
Tying his dinner to the front of his truck,
He drives home cheerfully through the muck,
Later that night the tender meat will be a stew.
As the children bounce around the house,
The mother screams at the sight of a mouse,
A tatty little friend who shivers in the corner.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 8:18 PM UTC
While everything of beauty dies,
And you can hear the wild bird’s cries,
A squirrel runs franticly from branch to branch.
His red-gold fur gleams in the shining dawn,
As he gazes down at a young fawn,
Loping peacefully among the colourful leaves.
Red, green and orange crunch beneath him,
He gnaws at vegetation on a mere whim,
Then he flees at the sight of a burly hunter.
With a short bang and a soft thud,
The deer’s fur becomes matted with blood,
The hunter proudly advances to claim his prize.
Tying his dinner to the front of his truck,
He drives home cheerfully through the muck,
Later that night the tender meat will be a stew.
As the children bounce around the house,
The mother screams at the sight of a mouse,
A tatty little friend who shivers in the corner.
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