High Noon at the Bird Feeder

A little dog, a streak of dachshund red,
Across the grass speeds to a squirrel’s doom
She wants its blood, she wants its flesh, she wants it dead;
Ripped, shredded, and torn; it will need no tomb.

The fat old squirrel, a fluff of forest grey,
Is unimpressed by doggie dementia;
To Liesl’s grief he leaps and climbs away -
Never underestimate the Order Rodentia!

Liesl’s squirrel clings to a low-hanging limb
And rattles abuse at the angry pup
Who spins and barks and spins and barks at him
Laughing among the leaves, and climbing higher up.

So Liesl snorts and sneers, and marks the ground;
She accepts not defeat, nor lingers in sorrow;
For Liesl and squirrel it’s their daily round;
They’ll go it again, same time tomorrow.

It was years ago , A fellow writer who felt it was there duty in life to judge others wrote me.

Dear John

I have read a few of your works and believe someone needs to tell you to save you the embarrassment .

Your antics are not talent your
words are muddled at best .
And your gutter sense of humor is childish and truly a embarrassment to us serious writers.

You should probably seek out a workshop or look to your fellow writers for some tips or maybe just stop writing altogether .

I read the message and laughed .
I have over thirty works in publication and far more on the way .

Opinions are like *******.

And to that writer I shall leave unnamed .

Who's words fall flat on the sidewalk like a **** from a mongrel dogs ***.

Hope your doing well.
I never listened then and I **** sure am not listening now.

When you hand out advice you better make **** sure your standing on solid ground before you cast a opinion

Keep writing is all I can tell you .

Through the rejections and the people that tell you to give up .

You will pass them all by eventually.

******* are not a dying breed.

Cheers

Gonz