No mean to offend, young laddie, a point, if I may It’s ‘Quirrels, not Squirrels ..a difference of ways Not all big bushy tails have ‘Quirrels attached Maybe pedantic, this dance with semantics perhaps, but more than a letter amiss or our ginger tinge to explain with this, the Them and Us, they, while swing from tiny twig, we’ll seek the tallest tree, fly, fall, all, as always, without a fuss, them, no fearsome frights, no sense fun or adventure, they’ve little rewards no risks, no treasures So cute, so cuddly? so canny, so needy, with greedy grabby razor Teeth…. Hard lives to fulfil, you’d think! flitting from bark to branch, boring and every day, dressed in grey while us, ducks and dodges tankers and trucks between the wheels, but Chance is our dash; life in the moment or squished in a flash …That’s how it rolls, fast and loose, the Lowlands, life without stale imitations. Red or dead. And never enough mush, only enough for another furry, fat Squirrel
If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!
Paul Horne 