In the forest's heart, a furry form doth play,
A squirrel, nimble and quick, with nary a stray.
His tail, a fluffy fan, doth sway and dance,
As he scampers through the trees, without a chance.

His eyes, bright and keen, doth scout the land,
For nuts and seeds, his daily bread and hand.
He chitters and chirps, with joyful cheer,
As he leaps from branch to branch, without a fear.

His fur, a coat of brown, doth glisten in the sun,
As he doth run, with speed and grace, begun.
He doth not boast, nor doth he brag,
For he knows his worth, and doth not lag.

His home, a nest, doth nestle in the bough,
A cozy den, where he doth rest and cough.
He doth not dream, of wealth or fame,
For he hath all he needs, in his humble name.

So let us marvel, at this little beast,
For he doth teach us, to live with finesse.
To cherish each day, and to live with grace,
And to find joy, in the simplest of places.

©️Sarah Lou Cawdron 2024