Lawrence Hall
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poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Squirrels Without End, Amen
Whenever I take my book to
the front-yard oak
The squirrel stretched
from the feeder to the trunk
Flees in a seed-strewn
panic across the lawn
To a farther tree, free of
human menace
This is a young squirrel;
its predecessor
Arched from feeder to
trunk in exactly the same way
But held its ground, or,
rather, its rough old tree
And chittered defiance in contempt
of me
By summer’s end this
squirrel too will stare me down -
I wonder what Pasternak
wrote about squirrels
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