Countdown

Our hill was steep, red clay rock; hardly anything thrived there. Stubborn blossoms of meager size bobbed on stems spindly and bare. The green shoots struggled up thru last year's mulch and sticks, to leaf and bud and then unfold a crown of rosebuds, I counted six. But lo, one morning, I came out and found there, to my surprise, one rose had vanished, poof, now they numbered only five. No tracks betrayed the thief, revealing why the stem was bare. Throughout the day, I kept watch but of the culprit, saw not a hair. Early next morn I sprang from bed and rushed right out the door. Oh, no - hungry beast was here and left me roses numbering four. Rain welcomed the following day. Through the window, I could see- a rose a day this creature needs. Catching raindrops, thirsty three. That night, planning to keep watch, maybe whop him with my shoe; I fell asleep and woke to find, he'd done his deed and left me two. With next day's dawn and rain gone, sneaky thief came with the sun, munched his breakfast on his own. Lovely roses surviving, only one. When night settled, I set the alarm, awoke and rose at early dawn. A tiny chipmunk of great charm held a rose within his arms. He sat there in the cutest pose, nibbling on the last pink rose. Throw my shoe, do you suppose? No, I smiled and watched the show.